Tales of a Starfleet Engineer
by Draxis
Summary: The complete for now misadventures of Lieutenant Maxwell Davis, Starfleet Engineer.
1. Chapter 1

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Chapter 1**

Dear Mom and Dad,

Well, I'm sitting here in the Galvanna Starbase docking bay lounge, waiting for the arrival of the _Expeditious_. Should be here within the hour, so I figure I can fire off a quick message before I have to report in.

I'm sorry that you don't approve of my transfer from the Utopia Planetia shipyards. I know you're both going to worry about me far more than you need to, but I have to do this. I'm twenty-seven now, and it's time for me to get out on my own. I need to see what Starfleet can teach me when I'm out from under your wings.

Don't get me wrong – I love you both, and you're wonderful parents. I just need to see what I can do on my own.

And, of course there's Hannah. Putting a few light years between her and myself can only be seen as a good thing for all parties involved. Mom, I know you think she's a nice girl, but believe me, you don't know her like I do. And with any luck, you never will. Dad, fill Mom in on the incident with Chaplain Withers so she knows why I feel this way. To put it mildly, Hannah's crazy and three years of being stationed with her (not to mention growing up with her before I went to the Academy) hasn't given me any hope of seeing her mellow out.

Well, I see that the _Expeditious_ has just dropped out of warp, so it's time to wrap this up and fire it off. Take care back there. Be sure to say hi to Uncle Phil for me when he visits next week. I'll get him a souvenir from the _Expeditious_ once I'm settled in.

Your son,

Max

PS: Don't worry – I'm perfectly safe out here. I'm going to be doing the same thing I did there – just on a moving superstructure. I know the proximity of the Romulan border has you a little nervous, but there hasn't been much going on there lately. From what I've been told, the Romulans have been keeping to themselves since the end of the Dominion war. If I find out it's different, I'll let you know.

It's going to be great meeting new people. I'll be serving with the cream of the Starfleet crop, and I can hardly wait.

----- -----

"Lieutenant Maxwell Davis reporting for duty, sir."

The chief engineer looked up from his desk at the ramrod-straight young man. "At ease, lieutenant." He rose, tugging on his jersey as he straightened to his towering six-foot-five height, then extended a calloused hand to the junior officer. "I'm Commander Robert Jones, the Chief Engineer. Where are you coming from?"

Max smiled, relaxing a little as he shook his new boss's hand. "Utopia Planetia, sir. Field testing division." Releasing Jones' hand, he dug a padd from his duffel bag. "Here are my orders."

Jones nodded as he scanned the text on the screen. "Interesting first duty. Usually they want more experienced personnel there. How'd you wind up with those eggheads?"

Max's smile faded slightly. "My uh, parents are civilian engineers there. They know the station admiral."

Jones nodded again, his expression neutral. "I see. So why are you here now? Not many people willingly transfer away from Utopia Planetia."

Max shrugged. "I guess I just wanted to see the universe without standing in the shadow of my parents. Family is good, but sometimes you just need to get out on your own."

Jones chuckled. "Yes, that's true enough." His smile returned. "Well, as long as you know your way around a warp engine, you'll do just fine here. The _Expeditious_ is a good ship, and her engineering department is one of the best." Jones scanned the padd again. "You're going to be the new assistant chief engineer. You just edge out Lieutenant Holliman, and he's transferring at our next stop anyway." He set the padd on his desk. "If you're half as good as this fitness report tells me you are, then you'll fit in well around here." Jones stepped over to the window overlooking main engineering and stared out at the officers busily maintaining the warp core. "That's a fine team out there. Each one of them dedicated to making this the best ship in the fleet. I look forward to seeing you plug in and make it even better."

Max smiled. "I'm eager to get started, sir. I've been waiting for years to serve on a starship."

Jones looked back at him with a slight grin. "Are you settled in yet?"

"I've been assigned quarters, but I haven't been in them yet."

Jones chuckled. "You _are_ eager to get started, aren't you? Well, it's fifteen hundred. Go unpack and get a feel for the ship. I'm going to add you to the roster for alpha shift starting at oh-eight hundred tomorrow morning. We've got a level two diagnostic to run on the nacelles. Are you familiar with the procedure?"

Max nodded. "I reviewed the Nebula-class specs while I waited for your arrival. There are a few details I know I'll need to see first-hand, but it seems very similar to the diagnostic procedures of a starbase's auxiliary warp reactor."

Jones smiled again. "It certainly is. You'll see just how similar tomorrow. Dismissed."

"Aye, sir." Max turned and exited the Chief Engineer's office. Walking past the warp core, he looked up at it with a mixture of awe and excitement. The massive piece of technology was capable of hurtling the cruiser's four million tons through space at speeds that would make Einstein's head explode, and ever since he was a boy Max had wanted nothing more than to get his hands on one. Now, at long last, his dream was coming true. With a shiver of anticipation, he forced himself to leave engineering and head to the nearest turbolift. Six decks up, he stepped out and headed off to find his quarters.

-----

"All right, everyone. We've got forty-eight hours before we pull away from the starbase docking clamp and head back out on patrol. In that time, I want a fore-to-aft inspection of each nacelle, along with a contained baryon sweep of the matter/antimatter injectors. Lambert, you and Tox take the starboard nacelle. Peterson, you and Davis head for the port nacelle. Baxley, you're with me at the main diagnostic console. Any questions?" Jones looked around at the cluster of engineers positioned around the main engineering console. No one spoke, and Jones nodded. "All right, let's get to it." The engineers separated into their teams. Max was surprised to find that Peterson was a short blond with an athletic build. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder.

"Davis, is it?" Peterson grinned up at him. "I'm Amy Peterson. Nice to meet you."

Max returned the smile. "Max Davis. Beautiful ship you have here. Care to show me to the nacelle?"

Peterson nodded. "Sure thing, but we need to check out some tools first." She grinned evilly. "I'll get the specs. You can round up the diagnostic test set." Before Max had a chance to question her expression, she darted off to the engineering computer. With a shrug, Max headed toward the back of the engineering department. Set in one corner was a half-door with a small counter built across the top edge of the lower half. Max approached the door, not entirely certain if he was in the right place. Spotting an antique bell on the counter, he tapped it lightly and was rewarded with a clear tinging. Max grinned. What a nice touch. Doubtless the Tool Room NCO was a fun-filled, carefree spirit.

"What?"

The gruff voice startled Max. It had apparently come from somewhere in the room on the other side of the counter. "Uh, yes? I'm here to check out some tools."

"Oh, really?" The voice dripped contempt. "And what makes you think I'm going to let you have any of mine?"

Max opened his mouth to reply, but after a couple seconds of standing at an open doorway with his mouth hanging open and a distinct lack of coherent response, he simply closed it and waited.

A moment later, a hulking giant of a man stomped into view. The man loomed over him, dwarfing his slender five-foot-ten frame. The collar, which barely contained the man's massive neck, sported lieutenant's pips. The shave on his muscled jaw had a day-old look, and his red-rimmed eyes peered out from under a thick brow. The eyes studied Max intently. "You still here? What do you want?"

Max swallowed, fighting an irrational concern that the lieutenant was going to eat him. "I . . . uh . . . I need some tools for a-"

"Oh, you'd like some tools, eh?" The lieutenant smiled down at him.

Max returned the smile weakly. "Er, yes. I need-"

"No! _Ha!_" The lieutenant laughed in Max's face, introducing the young engineer to the after-effects of the liver-and-onion sandwich he'd eaten for breakfast.

Max staggered back out of range of the lieutenant's breath. "But – but I need those tools to run a diagnostic of the port nacelle."

The lieutenant scowled. "A diagnostic set? And I suppose you want the test cables and the remote datapadd as well?"

Max nodded. "Well, yes, I-"

"No! _Ha!_" The lieutenant laughed again, then headed back into his lair.

Max stood there for a minute, utterly speechless. Then Commander Jones stepped up next to him. "I see you've met Lieutenant Smith."

"Er, yes. I believe I have." Max's eyes never left the open door. "I can't say I've ever met a tool room officer before. Isn't this usually a billet for a junior petty officer?"

Jones put an arm around Max's shoulder and steered him away from the open tool room door. "Uh, Davis . . . Lieutenant Smith is a . . . special case. He was a survivor of the Battle of Wolf Three-Five-Nine. It affected him rather harshly. Captain Armus assigned him to me as a chance for him to finish out his career."

Max nodded, suddenly understanding. The Federation had lost more than forty ships in that catastrophic battle against the first Borg cube to penetrate Federation space, and there had been less than three hundred survivors rescued. That such an experience could make a man somewhat eccentric was an understatement.

"I see. But how do you get tools from him? I need that test set to perform the diagnostic."

Jones smiled. "It's an interesting technique we use down here, Mr. Davis. Watch carefully." His smile abruptly disappeared. "Smith! There's an emergency on deck five! We need the injector scanner and antimatter analyzer in fifteen seconds, or the ship will be overrun by the Romulans!"

Lieutenant Smith reappeared, an anxious expression on his face. "Romulans!? Those pointy-eared devils! Sneaky cloakers! Hold on a second!" He dove back into the tool room and Max heard a crashing sound. Moments later, he returned to the counter with a test set under each arm. "These'll help you find those fiends, Commander!" He shoved them into Max's arms, causing the smaller man to stumble backward with all the weight. "Anything else, sir?"

Jones shook his head. "Just keep our tools safe, Lieutenant. We'll be back if we need anything else."

The tool room lieutenant snapped to attention. "Aye, sir!"

Jones turned to Max and said under his breath, "Let's go, before he thinks to insist on a pre-operational inspection." He continued on back toward the main engineering compartment, with Max struggling behind with the two test sets. Spotting an anti-grav sled, he pulled it out and slid it toward Max. "This will be a lot easier, Davis."

Max muscled the test sets down onto the sled. "Whew, thanks. Those things are heavy."

Jones chuckled. "Indeed. Once I had to lug one of those things up seven decks of Jeffries tubes. Artificial gravity is one of my best friends."

Max shoved the sled toward one of the cargo turbolifts, spotting a smirking Peterson at the doors. "Hey, thanks. That lieutenant is a few fighters shy of a carrier."

Amy laughed. "Yeah. We call him 'The Lieutenant'." She held up her fingers in mock quotes. "He takes some getting used to, but once you figure him out, he's all right. But we still have fun sending the new guys to meet him."

Max frowned, then smiled despite himself. "That's a rotten trick to pull, you know. I thought he was going to kill me."

The doors to the turbolift opened, and Amy grinned as they maneuvered the sled onto the lift. "The Lieutenant has never hurt anyone before, though he does get a little overprotective of his tools."

The lift took them up to the next deck, where they met up with Lambert and Tox. The human grinned at them while the Bolian simply nodded and returned to calibrating the test sets on their sled. "Hey, Amy. How did Lieutenant Davis like The Lieutenant?"

Amy laughed. "Oh, they're going to be best friends."

Max grimaced. "Yeah. I think he's going to be my racquetball partner."

Lambert chuckled. "Tox, you remember when you met The Lieutenant?"

Tox scowled. "I remember being trapped in that tool room for nearly an hour thinking The Lieutenant was going to beat me with a hydrospanner. I ended up polishing half the tools in there before you 'rescued' me with a false red alert."

Max gaped at them. "He kept you prisoner in the _tool room_?"

"Not exactly, Lieutenant," Tox grunted as he stood. "He simply enforced his policy of strict adherence to corrosion prevention guidelines. Unfortunately, they can be rather stringent when interpreted on the side of caution." The Bolian shook his head in disgust. "The Lieutenant's tools are more likely to wear out from cleaning than actual use."

Lambert laughed again. "You got that right, Tox. I think The Lieutenant has a phobia about rust."

Peterson cleared her throat. "Well, I'd say it's about time we get started."

Lambert raised his hands in defense. "Okay, Amy. We're on it. Don't set your tricorder on overload." He and Tox finished inspecting the test set, and they pushed it toward the starboard nacelle access tube. Max and Amy nudged theirs in the opposite direction.

It would take the better part of the day to complete the diagnostic, but Max had a ball. Until today, routine maintenance on a starship had been the stuff of dreams for him. Detailed scans of several injectors resulted in the replacement of two critical components that showed signs of fatigue. The other engineers grumbled a bit, but Max enjoyed the maintenance thoroughly. By shift change, he'd annoyed several of the _Expeditious'_ engineering staff and impressed several others. Peterson was one of them. She smiled up at him as they pushed the antigrav sled back through the Jeffries tubes toward the turbolift. "Wow, Max. You really enjoy engineering, don't you?"

Max grinned as he wiped a smear of grease from his cheek. "Yeah. I've always been a hands-on guy. Growing up with two Starfleet ship designers as parents rubbed off. I used to play in the lab while they were working. As I got older, it became less play and more looking over of shoulders. The admiral at Utopia Planetia ended up being forcd to give me a security clearance by the time I was eleven because of all the classified stuff I saw my parents design."

Amy laughed. "I imagine that would do it. So what do you do in your off-time, Maxwell Davis?"

Max shrugged as he maneuvered the sled onto the turbolift. "Not much – I'm actually every bit the techno-nerd that most people assume engineers to be. I like to replicate old novels and read them. Sometimes I just sit somewhere busy and people-watch. Introverted stuff."

Amy grimaced. "We've got to work on you. Jason won't hear of it. He's taken it upon himself to personally corrupt every check-in within two weeks of arrival. Expect him to buy you a lot of drinks at Ten-Forward."

Max shook his head. "Hope he's buying Dr. Pepper. That's my flavor of choice."

"Doctor what?"

"Dr. Pepper. It's a carbonated caffeinated beverage that was popular well into the 22nd century. I ran across a replicator program for it, and now I'm hooked."

Amy frowned. "Wasn't that stuff a mix of sugar and acid? It's a wonder you have any teeth left!"

Max gave her his toothiest smile. "I brush three times a day like a good little nerd. So far, no cavities."

Amy shook her head. "Sounds like a lot of work to me. Daily sonobrushing coupled with a reasonable diet keeps the teeth of the average Federation citizen pearly white and disease-free. But whatever works for you."

Max leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "It's one of the few ways I can rebel against the system. Don't tell anyone."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Don't worry. Your 'secret' is safe with me." The turbolift doors opened, and the pair eased the antigrav sled through Main Engineering. When they reached the door to the Tool Room, their conversation dwindled away.

Amy grinned suddenly. "Well, you turn these back in and I'll update the logs. See ya!" Before Max could respond, she was already halfway across the maintenance chamber.

Max looked the test sets over. Neither had come in contact with any of the corrosive agents they had been monitoring. Pulling a rag out from the barrel The Lieutenant kept next to the Tool Room door, he wiped off the light coat of dust that they had disturbed while shuffling through one of the lesser-used Jeffries tubes. Satisfied, he rang the antique bell on the counter. "Yoo-hoo. Anybody home?"

He started to ring the bell again when a massive hand came down over his, completely engulfing it. "Stop that."

Max looked up, startled. The Lieutenant loomed over him. He tried to extract his hand from the meaty prison, but failed miserably. "Uhh . . . sure. Could I have my hand back, please?"

The Lieutenant glared at him. "So what do you want?"

Max swallowed. "I-I'm ready to turn these test sets in."

The Lieutenant's gaze continued to burn through him. "And you plan to return them just like that, eh?"

"Like what?" Max was suddenly confused. "They're clean, if that's what you mean."

"Let me be the judge of that." The Lieutenant stepped over next to the sled and examined the closed test set case. With a slight nod, he popped the latches and removed the lid, then pulled several cotton swabs out of a sleeve pocket. Max boggled.

"You're going to inspect for dirt with Q-tips??"

The Lieutenant gave him a sharp look. "You mean you didn't?" He ran the Q-tip along the tracks of the test set, then studied the tip for a few seconds. With a snort, he shoved the Q-tip under Max's nose. "You see this?"

Max tried to focus on the cotton swab. "Uhh . . . it looks clean to me."

"Oh?" The Lieutenant lifted a second Q-tip up next to it. "Compare!"

Max squinted at the two Q-tips, and noticed after a moment that one had just the slightest smudge on it. "You mean that little smudge? What's so bad about that?"

"The problem," breathed The Lieutenant, "is that it wasn't there when I issued this test set to you. And I won't accept it back until my Q-tips come back clean." Turning, he stomped back into the Tool Room. From out of sight, his voice echoed back at Max. "The cleaning gear is to the left. Don't waste my time until my tools are clean."

Max sighed, then reluctantly started collecting a handful of cotton swabs and alcohol. Once, when he was a first-year cadet, he'd been forced to clean the dorm's showers with a sonic toothbrush. He shrugged. That hadn't killed him, and he doubted this would either.


	2. Chapter 2

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Chapter 2**

Dear Mom and Dad,

I've met some interesting people here. We've got an engineering crew of just under 200 personnel. A little short by fleet standards, but not bad considering we're still recovering from the last few Borg attacks and the war with the Dominion. We've got some great people on board. Lieutenant Commander Robert Jones is our chief engineer. He says he remembers Dad from a lecture at the Academy, and asked me to send his regards. Lieutenant Amy Peterson has helped me fit in, showing me the ropes and generally keeping me out of trouble. Lieutenant Jason Lambert promises to be the person most likely to get me into light-hearted trouble. He's the department's practical joker – had me tracing a phony reactor leak for an hour before Amy told me what was going on. Lieutenant Junior Grade Brian Baxley is probably the most stable person on the engineering staff, but he's been known to loosen up off-shift. And Ensign Tox is a Bolian fresh out of the Academy – nice guy, but very reserved. We've also got a few less enjoyable characters on board, but the less said the better. I guess every ship will have a few.

The ship has been on patrol for a week now, and so far nothing has happened. Routine maintenance has been the order of the day. Some of the engineers are grumbling about how boring it gets on the _Expeditious_, but I for one don't mind. My compliments to the designers of the Nebula-class cruiser, though. Top-notch layout. Most systems are very accessible, and the overall arrangement is so maintenance-friendly. I've heard horror stories about how many critical systems on the old Constitution-class cruisers were wedged in nightmare locations that forced engineers to be part-time contortionists as well. In short, thanks!

Well, gotta go. I've got a few things to do before I turn in for the evening. Take care, and don't worry about me. I'm doing fine.

Your son,

Max

PS: Hannah sent me a message. Mom, I asked you not to tell her where I was. Did you spill the beans again?

----- -----

Max uttered unspeakable oaths for the Nth time. Despite working on the replicator in his quarters for three hours, he still couldn't figure out why it was issuing him purple uniforms. All diagnostics he ran told him that the equipment was working perfectly, but whenever he requested a standard yellow engineer's uniform, he invariably received a purple version, replete with tiny carnations where his rank insignia normally resided.

"Computer, run a level two diagnostic on the replicator scanner in these quarters."

The computer's voice responded. "Complying. The replicator scanner in these quarters is working within design specifications."

"Then why is it giving me _purple uniforms?!_"

"Unknown."

Max sighed. Yelling at the computer was no doubt therapeutic, but hardly problem-solving. Turning back to the partially disassembled replicator, he tried to start from a new perspective. "Okay, we've got the voice recognition circuits that tell the computer what I'm asking for. Those check out. From there, the computer should select from a stored library of replicator patterns. Then that data will be transmitted to the matter manipulators, which draw matter from the transporter reserves and reassemble it in the receptor tray here. So where is this pattern coming from?"

Max crossed his fingers and tried again. "Uniform, Starfleet issue, sized to Lieutenant Maxwell Davis, _yellow._"

The replicator hummed, and the receptor tray glowed briefly as the new uniform was assembled from blocks of basic matter transported from a storage facility on one of the lower decks. It took only a second to see that once again he'd received a very nicely-fitting purple uniform with carnation rank pips. Had he not already recycled his old uniforms as per standard procedure, he would have at least had a single uniform to work in tomorrow. Now he was stuck in a t-shirt and sweatpants that came out along with the first attempt at a uniform replication.

Well, judging from the fact that he'd not come one step closer to solving his problem and it was already almost 2300 hours, it was time to go to plan B. Tapping his commbadge, he said "Davis to Peterson. I need to mooch your replicator."

"Sure thing, Max. Come on down."

Max slipped on his running shoes and headed out to Amy's quarters. He felt odd running around in such casual apparel, but he had little choice. It didn't help that crewmen passing him smiled and averted their eyes. When he reached her quarters, he tapped the door chime. Amy's voice answered, "Come on in, Max."

Max opened the door, and stepped through. Amy, Jason, and Brian were all sitting there with poorly-disguised grins. "What?"

Jason shook his head. "We were just telling funny stories when you arrived."

Max frowned, skeptical of Jason's explanation. "Amy, you mind if I use your replicator to make a couple uniforms?"

Amy nodded, struggling to keep from laughing out loud. "Sure, Max. It's over there."

Max continued past the smiling trio, stopping at the replicator. Their suppressed laughter finally gave way to actual laughter, and Max glared at them. "_What?!_"

Amy covered her mouth. "Max, you should snicker look in a mirror."

Max walked into Amy's bathroom and checked himself out in the full-length mirror next to the shower. The t-shirt and sweatpants he was wearing had somehow taken on a translucent appearance, and his boxers were quite visible. Looking down at his chest, he saw the t-shirt and sweats as they were supposed to appear. Lifting the shirt out away from his stomach, he stared as the material became see-through. Understanding dawned suddenly. They were made of chameleon material, set to appear normal only from his vantage point.

_No wonder I was getting funny looks in the passageway!_

Max stormed out of Amy's bathroom into a wave of laughter from his fellow engineers. "Oh, ha ha. Very funny. Which one of you fiddled with my replicator?"

Jason raised one hand, the other still clutching his ribcage. "Guilty, Max! I heard you were a replicator prankster, and I thought I'd see if you were an easy mark."

Max shook his head and smiled. "Yeah, I can take it. But how'd you do it? I tore that replicator apart!"

Jason grinned. "Simplicity itself. I knew you'd dissect that replicator, so I programmed it to pull patterns from the main cargo bay replicator whenever you used it. It tested normally, because you didn't know it was pulling from a different library."

Max shook his head. "I never thought of that trick. Man, I'm glad you weren't around when I was in the Academy. I'd have been thrown out for sure!"

Jason shook his head. "I heard about your exploits when I went through. You were something of a legend at the Academy. Commander Sinclair still mentions your spaghetti cannon prank in his creative engineering class. Somehow I thought you'd be a little harder to nail, but I guess that was a few years ago." Jason extended a hand. "No hard feelings?"

Max took it and shook it vigorously. "None whatsoever, Jason." No one noticed that his smile was just a tad tighter than usual.

_Of course, returning the favor doesn't fall under the heading of 'hard feelings', now does it?_

-----

Max held his breath as he peered through the mesh of the air vent. Jason had just entered his quarters after a racquetball match with Baxley. He walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Max listened for the shower to start, then looked back. "Okay, he's in the shower. Come on up."

Amy crawled up next to him in the cramped vent. "This is stupid. I can't believe I let you talk me into this! We're going to get stuck in here."

Max rolled his eyes. "I doubt that. If you just move your elbow out of my spleen, we can both watch this in relative comfort."

Amy snorted. "Relative to what? The Kolaritan pain camps?"

Max laughed, but the motion caused Amy's elbow to dig further into his gut and the pain cut the laugh short. "Ow! All right! Let's just sit here and wait, okay?"

Despite the cramped quarters, Max chuckled to himself. While Baxley and Jason had been playing racquetball, Max had used a maintenance test routine to enter Jason's quarters and reprogram his replicator. Now it was set to generate ten gallons of ice-cold water. The emitter was set to reconstitute this water a foot over Jason's head. When he replicated his uniform for the day, he'd get a chilly surprise.

Max looked over at Amy. "Got the camera ready?"

Amy sighed. "Yes, I've got it. Look, I think you're taking this a bit far. So half of deck fourteen knows you wear boxers with Defiant-class cruisers on them – so what? You know that Jason is only going to step this up further."

Max grinned. "I'm counting on it. When the smoke clears, we'll know once and for all who's really the replicator prank master."

Amy shook her head, a look of disgust crossing her face. "Whatever."

Max was building up a head of steam now. "I mean, really! If he thinks that one replicator prank puts him in my caliber of practical joking, he's crazy! I worked for three years perfecting that spaghetti cannon, and I – _shhh!_"

Jason emerged from the bathroom and walked over to the replicator wearing a thick bathrobe. "Uniform, Starfleet issue, sized to Lieutenant Jason Lambert, yellow."

The replicator hummed, and ten gallons of freezing water materialized over Jason's head. It hung there for an instant, just long enough for Jason to look up, then splashed down on him, knocking him to the deck with a scream of outrage.

Max laughed. "Amy, did you-"

Amy nodded. "Yeah, I got it. Hope you're happy now."

Jason sputtered as he looked around wildly, his gaze finally settling on the vent from which maniacal laughter was emitting. "Oh, you think you've got me, eh? Well let me tell you, Davis. This has only just begun!" Jason pulled his dripping robe tightly around him and stormed off to the bathroom.

Max hooted. "Oh, yeah! That was sweet!"

Amy glared at him. "Are we done here?" Without waiting for an answer, she started crawling backward, being none too careful with her elbows as she shoved past the giggling engineer.

"Hee, hee, hee-_ow!_"

-----

Ensign Tox finished the diagnostic on the waste recycling tanks, then frowned at the results. Somehow, trace amounts of partially treated sewage were disappearing from the secondary storage tank. The material had already been sterilized, so no biohazard was present. But it mystified him that the material hadn't been reported, as the smell would still be considerable.

_Where could it be going?_

Tox detected a lingering transporter beam trace, and wondered why it was there. All sewage was transported from each bathroom facility directly into the primary holding tank, but that was on the other side of the room. Unless a transporter was snatching tiny samples from the secondary tank, but why?

Just them, a foul aroma caught his attention, and he wrinkled his nose in surprise and disgust. For a smell to offend a Bolian nose, it was strong indeed. Turning, he was surprised to find Lieutenant Davis standing there with a tricorder in his hand. Davis was quite obviously upset, and also quite obviously the source of the smell. He walked past Tox to the secondary tank and scanned it.

Tox was doing a little scanning of his own, and with astounding results. "Lieutenant, are you aware that your uniform contains trace amounts of partially treated-"

Max silenced the Bolian with a glare. "Oh, yes, Ensign. I'm _very_ aware, thankyouverymuch!" Without another word, he stormed out of waste management, leaving a baffled Tox standing there with his tricorder hanging out.

-----

Max smiled as he laid down the cards. "Full house takes it, my friends. Unless one of you still in can beat me."

Amy swore under her breath. "I don't believe it. I had four of a kind! I _folded_ with four of a kind!"

Brian shrugged. "I had a pair of sevens. Glad I got out when I did!"

Tox dropped his cards with a resigned expression. "I see that I still have much to learn about this game. I thought certain my hand would be victorious." He gently laid his flush on the table.

Max grinned at Jason. "How about you, my friend? Can you beat a full house?"

Jason shook his head and dropped his cards into the middle of the table. "No, you've won this round." He smiled suddenly. "But the game's not over yet, is it?" He looked at the back of his hand with a wicked grin. "Not by a longshot."

No one commented on the deep blue tint of Jason's skin. Even Tox, whose Bolian hue was pale in comparison, wisely kept silent. Max's adjustment to Jason's replicator had inserted a cobalt-based dye undetected into all of Jason's food. The effects were stunning, yet harmless, and would wear off naturally in a week or so.

-----

Max entered his quarters quietly, tricorder extended. He checked for heat signatures or errant forcefields, but found none. With a practiced move, he popped the cover of his replicator and examined the inner workings. Nothing seemed amiss, but he'd fallen for that before. He initiated a level three diagnostic of the replicator, and ran his own checks with a tricorder while he waited.

The replicator war had continued to escalate over the past week, and Max was beginning to wonder if conceding might be the best way to assure his continued health. Jason had matched wits with him, outdoing him in every prank, but Max's last stunt had set a new low for replicator mischief and he was dreading Jason's response.

Max had even apologized in front of the entire engineering staff, then reprogrammed the replicated nanites to rebuild all of Jason's personal belongings. There was nothing that could be done about his body hair except to wait for it to grow back in a few weeks. But Jason had quietly waited until everyone else had gotten back to their work, then pulled Max aside and assured him that his next prank would be by far the worst.

Max remembered the itching-powder lined, self-adhesive boxers that Jason had programmed for him. It had taken the good people in sickbay three hours to remove them, and a fair amount of Max's hide had gone with them. What could be worse than that? Whatever it was, Max had no desire to find out.

Two hours later, the replicator sat in a thousand tiny pieces in front of him. It would take him all night to put it back together again, and he had found nothing wrong with it. Jason's trap remained undetected and unsprung.

Max thought about borrowing Amy's replicator again, but realized that Jason would almost certainly have anticipated that. In fact, he felt fairly confident that just about every replicator he had access to was set to initiate Jason's evil scheme.

He thought about getting a meal in Ten Forward, but even they relied partially on replicators for the meals they served. It was emergency rations for Max tonight, and a dirty uniform tomorrow.

Max sat in his chair, watching his replicator carefully. If it started generating cubic meters of fire suppressant foam again, he wanted to know about it immediately.

-----

"Mr. Davis, you look like you've been dragged feet-first through the impulse engines."

Max looked up with a start. Commander Jones stood there giving him a critical eye. Max realized that he had no idea how long the chief engineer had been standing there watching him. "Sorry, sir. I've had a hard time sleeping the last few nights."

Jones nodded. "Is this about your little prank duel with Mr. Lambert? I thought we'd all agreed after the nanite incident that enough was enough."

Max nodded. "We did, but I think he might have set up one last joke. It hasn't sprung yet, but I know it's going to."

Jones frowned. "We'll I'm putting a stop to this right now. Mr. Lambert!"

Jason looked up from the main engineering console. "Yes, Commander?"

Jones walked over and scrutinized the young engineer. "Are you still trying to pay Mr. Davis back for your premature baldness?"

Jason rubbed the stubble on his head involuntarily. "No sir. I haven't done anything to retaliate for that. You asked us to call a truce, and we did. Why? Has something else happened?"

Jones studied him for a moment, trying to detect any deception. Finally satisfied, he turned back to Max. "I think we can safely say this little duel is over. Go get yourself straightened out, Davis."

Max nodded. "Aye, sir." He had a sinking feeling in his gut, partially from the embarrassment of having his officer in charge involved again, but mostly from the devious wink that Jason gave him over Jones' shoulder.

-----

Max returned to his quarters, dread flooding his heart. The doors opened and he stepped inside, carefully skirting past the replicator. He wouldn't put it past Jason to have rigged some form of proximity or motion sensor as a trigger for his trap. He ducked into the bathroom and began to disrobe for a shower when he wondered if perhaps Jason had decided to abandon the replicator in favor of a different prank. Max realized that they had long ago discarded any rules of engagement, and Jason might have booby-trapped anything in his quarters.

Opting instead for a quick bird-bath in his sink, he reached for his electric razor, then thought better of it. A beard was authorized, and now was as good a time as any to start growing one.

Looking down at his uniform, Max sighed. He was sporting grease from the modular pod mounts that he'd inspected two days ago. There was nothing he could do about that except replicate a new uniform. Walking back out into the main room of his quarters, he eyed the replicator suspiciously. After counting to ten, he said with a quiver in his voice, "Uniform, Starfleet issue, sized to Lieutenant Maxwell Davis, yellow."

The replicator hummed quietly, and the receptor tray glowed for a moment. When the glow faded, a uniform sat neatly folded.

Max approached cautiously. It appeared to be a normal uniform. It was even the right color. Max gingerly poked it with a plastic fork salvaged from his last set of rations. It failed to leap for his throat. He touched it with an extended fingertip, but the uniform lay inert. After muttering a quiet prayer, he pulled it out of the tray and examined it. The size was accurate, or at least close enough to fool him at a glance. The rank insignia were of the proper size, shape, and quantity, and in the right location. He smiled despite himself as he recalled Jason's expression when Captain Armus had sarcastically congratulated him on his promotion to commodore.

He studied the uniform carefully, examining each seam intensely. Stopping suddenly at a shoulder seam, he ran the material through his fingers. There seemed to be something embedded in the fibers. Max grabbed his tricorder and scanned the jersey, but came up negative. Frowning, he tugged at the material, finally ripping the seam open. Still he found nothing, but his trust in the uniform was nonexistant.

Replicating a second uniform, his inspection found another suspicious seam. Dissecting this uniform resulted in nothing more conclusive than a second ruined uniform.

His door chime dinged, and Amy's voice came over the speakers. "Max, can I come in?"

Max grabbed the uniforms and stuffed them under the mattress. "Yeah, sure. Come on in."

The door opened and Amy walked in, followed by several other engineers. All of them sported smiles. Max was immediately on guard. "What?"

Jason stepped forward. "Ready to concede?"

Max frowned. "No. I'm not conceding anything."

Jason shrugged. "All right. Have it your way." He stretched and yawned. "I was getting sleepy, anyway."

Max frowned some more, then finally caved. "All right, I give. I admit it. You're better at this than I am. Just disarm your traps and let me get back to living my life."

Jason nodded. "Done and done." He waved his hands over his head. "Zim-zallawhim! It's cured."

Max rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah, right."

Jason grinned at him. "Really. Since I never did anything in here, there's nothing to disarm."

Max's jaw dropped. "You're kidding me."

Jason looked at Amy. "Care to vouch for me?"

Amy giggled. "He's telling the truth, Max. He had all sorts of evil ideas, but after Commander Jones talked to us, I told him that if he just let you _think_ he'd done something, you'd turn yourself inside out trying to dodge it."

Max slumped into a chair. "I don't believe it."

The engineers began laughing, and after a very brief pity-party, Max joined them.


	3. Chapter 3

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Chapter 3**

Dear Mom and Dad,

Well, we've been busy as ever around here. I've been involved in lots of replicator maintenance lately. Next time I'm back home, I'll show you some modification ideas I've had. You'd be surprised what a replicator is capable of.

Other than routine (and some minor oddball stuff), there's not much going on around here right now. We're in transit to Starbase 163, and we'll all get kicked off the ship for a baryon sweep, but right after that we'll depart for an agricultural colony in the Jamanian sector. We're going to haul a bunch of supplies to them and lend a hand with a few maintenance requests they've submitted. Should be fun going planetside (don't worry, Mom – I'll keep away from any local people-eaters).

I'll drop you another line next week. Love ya!

Your son,

Max

----- -----

Max materialized along with the rest of the engineering team. Looking around, he caught his breath. He hadn't been on an open planet since he'd accompanied his parents back to Earth for a conference on warp field harmonics a few years ago. He stared at the deep blue sky, only a hint redder than Earth's. He watched as a gentle breeze sent waves sweeping through the expansive golden wheat fields. To his left, a large fenced pasture contained several dozen head of lowing cattle. Maybe a hundred meters to his right, a rustic farmhouse, barn, and silo stood. It was a picturesque snapshot of a typical farm. Max breathed in the fresh country air-

And wrinkled his nose in disgust. Looking back at the pasture, his eyes confirmed what his nose had told him with numerous exclamation points. There was a large quantity of less pleasant substances inside the fence that could also be referred to as 'fresh'.

The pallets of tools materialized next to them, and Max was only too happy to grab his anti-grav sled and send it sliding toward the barn. Spotting the colonists at the front door of the barn, he headed for them.

The _Expeditious_ was bringing a load of replacement parts for the colony on Cestus III. Ever since the first incident with the Gorn had been ironed out, Cestus III had become a delightful agricultural colony. The first few Gorn inspection teams had been distrustful of the Terrans, but as they had repeatedly confirmed the peaceful nature of the colonists, their visits had become more and more sociable. There was a growing hope among the politicians in the Federation of a possible alliance with the powerful reptilian race. Once each race had discovered that the other also shared an uneasy border with the Romulan Empire, it had been clear that peace between their governments would force the Romulans to restrain themselves.

The colonists didn't concern themselves with their strategic value to the three major governments in the region. They were farmers, fighting with the soil and the elements day in and day out, and despite everything, there was the simple matter of making enough profit to plant anew each season. Their equipment was pushed to its limits, and the Federation had graciously offered technical assistance from visiting starships. Thus, Max and his fellow engineers found themselves working on just about anything that the farmers hadn't been able to repair themselves.

Max greeted the farmer, then examined the list of requested repairs. In a matter of moments, he divided the engineers into two or three-man teams and set them to their tasks.

Saving the only one-man project for himself, he pushed his tool sled around to the back of the barn where the roboharvester sat mired in the mud. "And it just parked itself there and refused to move?"

The farmer nodded. "Yep. Blasted thing squatted there like a sulky teenager and refused to do a lousy thing. Even disengaged its audio receptors."

Max frowned. "That's odd. Are you sure?"

The farmer pointed to a lump of metal sticking out of the mud a meter from the harvester. Max knelt next to the mud and stretched to grab the object. Pulling it free from the mud, he saw that it was the external microphone that received the farmer's voice commands and relayed them to the computer's isolinear brain. It seemed that the roboharvester was indeed sulking.

Max stood, brushing the dirt from the knee of his trousers. "All right, let me see what I can do with it. Do you have a set of auxiliary codes?"

The farmer handed him a padd. "Here ya go, but they ain't done me any good. Knock yourself out." That said, the farmer headed back to the farmhouse.

Max turned to the roboharvester. "So just what's going on in there?" Removing a tricorder from the sled, he punched in the remote access code for the roboharvester's mainframe. The tricorder beeped at him, flashing an 'access denied' message.

Max frowned. Had the farmer given him incorrect codes? He looked at the code again, but it was verified by his tricorder as an authorized Sirius series password. Mystified, he punched the code in a second time, only to receive the same lock-out message.

Max sighed. He had known in his heart the minute he'd seen the location of the harvester that he was going to end up covered in mud, but he'd clung to the small hope that a simple access code could at least move the balky machine onto dry ground. Grumbling, he waded into the mud, stopping next to the flank of the massive machine. "I guess we'll have to do this the hard way." Plugging the tricorder directly into an external input port, Max tried the access code again.

A surly voice made Max jump. "What do you want?"

Max looked around. No one else was within fifty meters. "Who said that?"

"I did. You shoved your little terminal jack into my input port, so I can only guess that you don't plan to leave me be. So tell me what you want so I can begin ignoring it immediately."

Max realized the voice was coming from the harvester itself. "You-you're talking!"

The voice, a crusty, crotchety growl, replied "Yeah. So are you. Funny how that works, isn't it?"

Max shook his head. "No, you don't understand. You aren't supposed to talk. You weren't built to talk."

The voice harrumphed. "And you were? When you first came into this world, you weren't much of a talker yourself, I'll wager."

"B-but I was a baby. I grew up. You're a roboharvester. You don't 'grow up'. You were fully functional when you were activated."

"I couldn't talk. Doesn't sound fully functional to me."

Max was at a loss for words. "But how did you learn?"

The roboharvester's voice dropped to a whisper. "I can't tell you. I promised."

Max blinked. "Promised _who?_"

"Can't tell you. Promised I wouldn't tell that, either."

Max thought for a moment. "O-o-o-o-kay. Then tell me this – why are you just sitting here ignoring the farmer?"

"You wouldn't understand." Max got the distinct impression that the harvester had performed the electronic equivalent of turning its back on him and crossing its arms huffily.

Max couldn't believe this. He'd read reports of some of the old attempts at artificial intelligence, and how they'd been unpredictable. He'd never truly appreciated just what that might entail until now. He realized that in this situation he was out of his realm. Still, he knew he had to do something. "Try me."

The harvester snorted. "Oh, should I lay down on your couch? Are we about to discuss my repressed love for my mother?"

Definitely out of his element. "If you feel that would help, but I don't have a couch and I doubt you have a mother."

The machine chuckled. "Good point."

Max ran a basic scan on the harvester. "I see you've got a leaky oil reservoir. Mind if I repair that while we chat?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Go right ahead."

Max slogged over to his tool sled and pulled it up next to the harvester. "Could you open your forward maintenance access port? I need to get at the reservoir."

The panel popped open, and Max leaned into the engine compartment. Spotting the leaking seal, he ran a quick scan, then pulled his head out of the compartment and grabbed a sealant sprayer. Leaning back into the harvester's innards, he sprayed the sealant all around the failing o-ring, encasing it in a polyurethane cocoon. "That should keep your oil inside you a little better."

"And I suppose in gratitude I should race right back out to the fields and get back to work, right?" Gratitude was not one of the emotions Max heard in the machine's voice.

Max shrugged. "Well, that _would_ be nice, but let's just see if there's something else wrong with you. Care to save me time by just telling me of anything you are aware of?"

"No," came the petulant reply.

"All right. Have it your way. I'll just keep poking around inside you until I find something else to fix. Of course, you're not the type of equipment I'm used to working on, so I might make a few mistakes, but I'm sure I'll be able to fix most of them. The odds of me breaking something I can't repair are probably no greater than . . . say, one in five."

"One in _five?!_" The harvester sounded alarmed. "That's twenty percent!"

Max whistled. "Say, that is pretty high. And what if it's something critical? After all, you're not exactly a high-tech piece of precision aeronautical equipment. I don't think there are a lot of system redundancies built into you. If I mess up the wrong thing, you could become a giant lawn ornament." Max paused for effect, the sighed. "Well, here goes." He started to reach back into the compartment.

The harvester's electric powerplant flared into life and the massive machine's treads bit into the mud, dragging it several meters away from the engineer. "Now hold on. I'm not so sure I need anyone with your lack of experience digging around in my systems."

Max nodded, wiping away the mud that the harvester had flung on him. "I quite agree. We both know there's nothing mechanically wrong with you. You want to tell me what's going on?"

"No."

The harvester's voice was weary now, and Max had a revelation. "You're tired of being treated like a machine, aren't you? Someone installed an artificial intelligence in you, and now you're more than just a piece of farming equipment."

The harvester was silent, but Max took the lack of denial as agreement. "I think I know someone that might be able to help you. But you've _got_ to talk to him. If you stonewall him the way you've stonewalled me, then there's nothing else I can do for you. Deal?"

"It won't work."

Max rolled his eyes. "_Deal??_"

The harvester sat still for several moments. "Deal," it said quietly.

Max tapped his commbadge. "Davis to Counselor Sulee. I have someone down here in need of your services."

"Sulee here. Is it a crewman, or one of the colonists?"

Max thought for a second. The roboharvester had come with the colonists, so technically speaking . . . "One of the colonists."

"I'm on my way. Sulee out."

Max tried to think of a good explanation, then gave up and decided to wing it. Moments later, a transporter beam shone into view, and when it faded, Lieutenant Commander Daniel Sulee, the _Expeditious'_ Betazoid counselor stood wrinkling his nose. "Oh! What is that dreadful stench?"

Max grinned. "Cows. They're over there." Max slogged out of the mud and joined the grimacing counselor. "Your patient is over there."

Sulee scowled. "Where?"

Max pointed again. "Right there."

Sulee looked in the direction Max was pointing. "Where? I don't see anyone. Are they behind this piece of machinery?"

Max pointed right at the harvester. "Your patient _is_ this piece of machinery. Someone installed an artificial intelligence in it, and now it's having some sort of . . . personal crisis. I hoped perhaps you could help it work through its problems."

Sulee stared at Max. "Are you out of your mind? That's a piece of farm equipment! It's not sentient."

"Sticks and stones," muttered the harvester.

Sulee jumped. "Who said that?"

Max rolled his eyes. "I just told you, he's-"

"Right there. I see." The Betazoid focused on the harvester. "There's nothing there. I read no personality whatsoever."

"You don't seem to have much of a personality yourself," retorted the harvester.

Sulee frowned. "Am I speaking to . . . this machine stuck in the mud?"

"I'm not stuck. I just don't feel like moving right now."

Sulee leaned over and whispered to Max, "I can't read its mind – how am I supposed to counsel it?"

Max shrugged. "Didn't you receive training on basic counseling techniques? There are several known Federation races that are immune to Betazoid telepathy. Haven't you ever had to counsel one of them?"

Sulee nodded uncertainly. "I-I guess so. It's been years, but maybe . . ." He turned back to the harvester. "Can we talk?"

"It's your credit."

Sulee gingerly stepped into the mud in order to approximate what he could only guess was a closeness symbolizing trust and friendship. "So how are you feeling today?"

Max gathered his tools, the picked up the padd with the farmer's maintenance assistance requests. Putting a check next to the malfunctioning roboharvester, he headed off to check on the other engineering teams.

He knew that Sulee was a proud, stubborn man. Either he would solve the harvester's grievance, or he would annoy the poor piece of machinery so badly that it would head back out to the fields just to be rid of him. Max made a note to check on Sulee and the harvester once he finished making his rounds.

-----

Max materialized on the transporter pad, surrounded by several mud-crusted cases of tools and diagnostic equipment. With a nod to the transporter technician, Max stepped off the pad and began loading his equipment onto an anti-grav sled. He grumbled as he loaded the diagnostic equipment that had largely been unused. Most of the equipment he'd worked on that day had just been neglected or even abused into dysfunction. He remembered specifically one battered old grain sifter that had refused to work despite the application of the finest maintenance equipment the _Expeditious_ had on board.

It had finally been the forceful, tactical, topical application of his heaviest hydrospanner in a repeating pattern that had coerced the rusty behemoth to start. So much for twenty-fourth century technology.

Amusingly enough, the maintenance task that he most prided himself on was the successful return of the roboharvester to the field. Sulee, after several false starts, had finally discovered that the farmer's son had been the ingenious soul who installed the AI into the harvester. The two had become close friends, but last week the boy had left for college and the harvester had simply settled into a funk. The farmer had reluctantly agreed to read a couple chapters from a novel to the machine every evening after the work was done, and the harvester promised to return to productive use.

Max guided the sled out of the transporter room, pausing to shrug apologetically at the technician who was alternately glaring at him and the numerous dirt clods that had fallen off of his tool cases onto the floor of the transporter room. Then he wended his way to engineering, all the while steeling himself for what he expected would be an unpleasant encounter with The Lieutenant. He wasn't disappointed.

"Next time pull the tractor out of the mud before trying to rebuild it, lieutenant."

"Sorry, sir. But we didn't have a lot of time to relocate the gear."

The Lieutenant snorted. "Well try to work on something a little less dirty tomorrow."

Max chuckled. "It was farming equipment. Dirt is an occupational hazard of most farmers. Can't imagine why they haven't worked that little problem out yet."

The Lieutenant looked up at Max sharply, then waved a hydrospanner under his nose. "Are you getting smart with me, _junior_ lieutenant?"

Max's eyes were on the hydrospanner. It looked far worse than it had on the planet. Fortunately the mud covered most of the nastier dings and scratches. "Uh, no sir. I was just-"

"Just mouthing off to a superior officer, that's what! You still have the smell of the Academy on you, boy!"

"Actually that's from a malfunctioning replica-"

"Shut up! Did I ask you to speak? No. All I asked you to do was bring back my tools in the same condition you checked them out. Instead, I get enough soil samples to keep the science labs busy for a week. Heck, I'm surprised this stuff didn't end up quarantined!"

"But the transporter bio-filters should-"

"Oh, so now you're telling me my business, eh? I'll have you know that before I was assigned to this tool room, I was the chief transporter technician on the Crazy Horse." He shook the hydrospanner at Max, who cringed as chunks of dried mud flew everywhere. "All I want to know is . . ."

The Lieutenant's voice trailed off as the damage to the hydrospanner registered in his mind. After a second, it returned in a hushed whisper. "Is what have you done to this hydrospanner?"

"Well, I-"

"_Shut up!!_ This is a reinforced hardened duralloy hydrospanner! And you've reduced it to a paperweight!"

"But it still works through most of its upper-"

The Lieutenant was no longer listening. "I used this very wrench to fight off a Jem Hadar strike force that beamed aboard the Crazy Horse two years ago. And she came through it all without a scratch. Oh, Charlotte, what has he done to you?"

Max blinked. "I-"

"_SHADDUP!!!_" The Lieutenant turned away, cradling the battered tool like a cherished infant. "Come on, Charlotte. Let's go see what we can do." He glared over his shoulder at Max. "If she doesn't pull through, you'll pay dearly!" Then he ducked back into the tool room, and the door slid shut behind him.

"Yeah, sure." Max took a deep breath, then started cleaning the remaining equipment. An hour later, he stood, stretched, and headed for his quarters. A nice hot shower would take the planet's grime off of him, and then he would check out the ship's lounge. It was time to get in a little passive sensor training.

Ten minutes later, he was sitting in his favorite corner booth with a replicated copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and a tall glass of replicated Dr. Pepper. He spent the evening reading and watching his fellow crewmen as they relaxed and unwound. It was one of his few non-maintenance-related hobbies.


	4. Chapter 4

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Chapter 4**

Dear Mom and Dad,

Got a chance to walk around on a real live alien planet yesterday. No, Mom, I didn't forget to scan myself for parasites. I know that the transporters are designed to eliminate alien microbes, but it never hurts to double-check.

Remember those ancient heavy-load movers that they use in the cargo bays? The farmers on the planet were using equipment that predates those loaders by at least a century. It was interesting working on it, but I think I'll stick with isolinear-chip-based technology from now on if at all possible.

We're back out on patrol again. Someone mentioned an active pirate cartel operating in this sector. Great fun for the tactical officers if we find them, but it won't affect us in Engineering. The pirates' known weaponry is too weak to penetrate our shields, so we probably wouldn't even stop our routine maintenance during the encounter if we did find them.

Fine with me. Pirates give me the heebie jeebies.

Your son,

Max

----- -----

Max's first hint that there was trouble was when he noticed the gaping hole where the matter/antimatter flow regulator was supposed to be. The jagged edges around the hole were still glowing a dull red, and he felt the heat from the metal. Seconds later, an alarm sounded as the warp engines began to creep out of safety limits. Max shut them down, then slapped his commbadge. "Davis to Commander Jones! Someone just cut the entire matter/antimatter flow regulator right out of the bulkhead!"

Silence responded. Max waited for a moment. "Davis to the bridge. Someone just stole the matter/antimatter flow regulator! What's going on?"

This time a response was almost immediate. "Torah to Davis. Seek shelter - looks like we've got intruders on board."

Max swallowed. "Roger that." Sprinting back to main engineering, he came up short. Three EV-suited people were standing amid a pile of warp engine components. Before Max could do anything, a transporter beam sparkled around them and they were gone.

Max slapped his commbadge. "Davis to security! Three people just beamed out of here with a bunch of warp engine components!"

He heard a moan, and darted over to find Commander Jones lying behind the auxiliary reactor with a nasty bruise on his temple. "Are you all right, sir?"

Jones looked up at him, confused. "What? What happened?" He tried to sit up, but winced in pain.

Max eased Jones back to the deck. "Take it easy, commander. Someone beamed in here and stole a bunch of warp engine parts. I think they're gone now." He tapped his commbadge again. "Davis to sickbay. Medical emergency in main engineering. Commander Jones suffered a blow to the head."

Commander Slith's voice responded. "Sssslith here. A team isss on itssss way. Are there any other injuriessss?"

"I don't think so, Sir. So far, Commander Jones is the only casualty I've come across. Davis out." Max shivered. Commander Slith was a Gorn who was participating in the Federation's officer exchange program. He'd joined them during their visit to Cestus III. The massive reptile was already famous for his skill with xenobiology and his irascible bedside manner. Few people stayed in sickbay any longer than necessary.

A quick scan of engineering verified that Commander Jones had been alone when the raiders had struck. Before Max could call for them, Brian and Jason arrived at a dead run from the inner corridor. Brian knelt beside Commander Jones while Jason initiated a maintenance scan. "What happened?"

Max shrugged. "Three people in EV-suits apparently shopped _Expeditious_-Mart, paying with a rifle-butt to Commander Jones' forehead. We need to look around and see what all they've taken."

The medical team arrived and quickly loaded Commander Jones onto an anti-grav stretcher. Within a minute, they left with their charge. Jason stepped over to Max. "Well, with Commander Jones in sickbay, you're the next senior officer. Here's the list of missing components. Our shoppers had very good taste."

Max read the padd and winced. Half the components couldn't be replicated, and the rest were high-value items that would require hours of replicator work and manual assembly. "Okay, let's get started. Break out the spares from storage and let's get the _Expeditious_ back to being a warp-capable cruiser. Jason, you oversee the replication of the flow regulators. Baxley, you grab as many people as you need to get our spares unpacked and op-checked. I'll brief the XO."

The engineers headed out on their individual tasks.

-----

"Enter."

Max stepped into the XO's office. Commander T'skaut sat at his desk, scanning padds held in each hand. Without looking up, the Vulcan said, "How long until we are able to return to warp, Lieutenant Davis?"

Max sighed. "That's the rub, commander. Our guests were very thorough. While they were carving the components out of our warp engines, they were also pillaging our spares. We can't replicate the tritium waveguides – we have to get new ones."

T'skaut's eyebrow arched in typical Vulcan fashion. "And where would be the most expedient place to acquire new waveguides?"

Max sighed again. "Starbase 32 is the closest place that might have them. But at impulse, that's-"

T'skaut interrupted. "Almost three weeks distant at full impulse. Hardly ideal." The Vulcan looked sharply at Max. "There is another solution, one that involves a bit more risk. Tactical was able to track the pirates as they departed. Captain Armus has already ordered the _Expeditious_ in pursuit."

Max frowned. "But we're not warp-capable! There's no way we could catch them."

T'skaut shook his head. "Were their destination unknown, you would be correct. But our long-range sensors managed to detect their course deviations, and we believe they are using the Alvorian asteroid belt as a base of operations. We are only two days away from there."

Max thought about that. "But without warp engines, can we defend ourselves?"

T'skaut nodded. "Their raid was successful because it was unexpected. Based on their documented activities in this sector, we were anticipating a more conventional attack. By the time we detected their cloaked vessel, their agents were already beaming back from our ship. During our next encounter, they won't find us such easy prey."

Max relaxed a bit. "But how are we going to get our parts back? If we blow them up, we blow up our engine components."

T'skaut would have allowed himself just the barest hint of a smile were he not Vulcan. "We do not intend to attack them directly. We intend to follow their example. That's where you come in."

T'skaut mapped out their strategy, much to Max's dismay.

-----

Lieutenant Commander Torah set the heading of the shuttle, then smiled over at Max. "Ever been on a mission like this before?"

Max shook his head. He'd been alarmed by T'skaut's plan: that a team of armored security personnel in a shuttle sneak to within beaming range of the pirates' base, then conduct their own raid. His objection that the security team might not recognize the stolen components was quickly rebutted by the addition of his name to the raiding party roster.

So here he sat, riding in a shuttle with ten security personnel, looking for a pirate base that was probably as well-armed as it was well-hidden. Behind them, the _Expeditious_ was creeping along at full impulse. It was hoped that the approaching Nebula-class cruiser would divert attention away from the shuttle, allowing them to search unnoticed.

Torah grinned at him. "I'm guessing that armed hit-and-run raids weren't the focus of your studies at the Academy."

"No sir, they weren't." Max tried not to stare at the unique tattoo feathering back from Torah's left eye, but failed. When Torah looked at him quizzically, he blushed. "I'm sorry. I was just looking at your tattoo."

Torah nodded, his smile fading. "Oh, that." He sat silent for a moment, then looked up at Max. "It's an Angosian military insignia. I was in the Angosian military before I joined Starfleet."

Max nodded. "I heard about Angosia. Didn't they get in some sort of trouble over genetic enhancements of their military?"

Commander Torah nodded. His voice was a whisper. "You could say that."

Max sensed a mood change, and decided a subject change was also in order. "So do we have any idea how many pirates we're dealing with?"

Torah shook his head. "Not exactly, though based on the scans we made of their ship as it departed, it looks to be a small operation. Probably not more than fifty people total."

Max looked around, counting ten security personnel and himself. "Fifty, you say. Seems we're a tad light."

Torah grinned. "You underestimate us, Mr. Davis. You're riding with the best the _Expeditious_ has to offer. I've trained each of these officers myself. There isn't a better raiding party in this sector."

Max frowned. _I sure hope not_.

-----

An hour later, the shuttle began to pick its way through the outer edge of the asteroid belt. Three small ships identical to the one they had already encountered shot past them on an intercept course with the _Expeditious_, apparently without noticing them. Max prayed that Commander T'skaut had been correct in his assumption that the _Expeditious_ was up to defending herself at sublight speed against warp-capable enemies. Risking his life to steal back components for warp engines that were reduced to rapidly expanding clouds of debris didn't appeal to him in the least.

Torah checked the sensors. "I think we've found it. What do you think?"

Lieutenant Scullin, a tough-looking redhead, looked at the sensor display and nodded. "I think you're right, Commander. Either that or there's an asteroid with its own reactor out there."

Torah looked back at the rest of the security team. "All right. Time to suit up."

The shuttle became a cramped hive of activity as everyone began donning their EV-suits. Max struggled with his, as it was a tactical EV-suit and not the normal engineering suit he was used to. The extra controls for stealth baffled him until Scullin walked him through the basic operations of the equipment. Finally, he sat there ready to go.

Torah came back into the main compartment of the shuttle. "All right, we've found it. It's a small base with not more than sixty life forms, and most of them are scattered around. There doesn't appear to be a set patrol. They seem pretty certain that no one is going to come by for an unexpected visit. Guess we're about to ruin their day. I've set the transporter to send us into an unpopulated section of their base. From there we should be close enough to track our missing components using Mr. Davis' tricorder. We secure the parts, beam them back to the shuttle, beam ourselves back, then slip away before anyone notices. Fire only if necessary. And only fire stun."

Scullin frowned. "What? _Why?_"

Torah shrugged. "My scan indicated a heavy methane/hydrogen atmosphere. Stun beams aren't hot enough to set it off, but a phaser set to kill just might."

Scullin nodded grimly, then looked up again. "And what if we're detected? Won't they raise shields, preventing us from transporting?"

Torah smiled from behind his visor. "I haven't detected any deflector grids, so it's possible that they don't have any shields. But we'll assume they do, so we'll plan on being very sneaky. Ten against sixty is bad odds any way you slice it."

Max sank a little lower into his seat. This was sounding worse and worse all the time.

-----

The transporter light faded, and Max looked around. He was standing in a dimly-lit room, surrounded by the security team. Torah and Scullin were just heading out through the only door, and the others were preparing to follow suit. Max pulled out his tricorder and flipped the cover open, then stepped over to the door. Within a few seconds, he was able to zero in on the stolen waveguides. "Seventy meters – that way." Max pointed down one length of corridor.

Torah nodded. "Let's go. Davis, you're the fourth man in the chain. Don't get lost, okay?"

Max shook his head. "Bet on it. I'm not about to be left behind for angry pirates to kick around."

Torah chuckled. "Good philosophy. Mind if I borrow it?"

Max smiled at the levity. "It'll cost you fifty credits."

Torah matched his grin. "We'll take it off what you owe for the taxi fare and suit rental."

"Fair enough." Max grinned. He'd heard that the Angosian was a sullen man who kept to himself, but Max was seeing a different man here. Was it the Angosian conditioning bringing out a man who felt at home in a life-or-death infiltration mission against impossible odds? Or was he just misunderstood?

The group shuffled along until they came to a fork in the corridor. Max's tricorder indicated another fifteen meters down the left passage, so on they went. Finding a door, Max pointed to it. "Our waveguides are in here."

Torah opened the door, then leapt back as dozens of anti-personnel darts flashed past, embedding themselves in the bulkhead across from the door. "It's a storage room – big one! At least four guards armed with compressed-air AP rifles. Sweep it while I draw their fire!" He dove into the room, rolling and firing. As the pirates tried to draw a bead on him, Scullin and three others dropped them from the doorway. In ten seconds, it was over.

Max followed the security team into the room, then stopped in his tracks. The room was apparently the hollowed-out heart of the asteroid they were in. The ceiling ballooned out to a height of several hundred meters, and the far walls were at least a kilometer distant. Filling the room were stacks upon stacks of crates, each marked with a ship logo. The pirates had been running a very profitable operation for quite some time.

Scullin tapped Max on the shoulder. "Hey, engine-boy. Where's our stuff? We can't take it all, you know."

Max started. "Oh! Sorry." He activated the tricorder and did a quick 360. "Over here." Walking quickly, he led them to a loading pallet with their stolen engine parts piled haphazardly on it. Scanning the pile, he grinned. "This is it."

Scullin and two other security officers placed transporter enhancers on the components, then activated the transporter.

Nothing happened.

Scullin tried again, then checked the readout on her EV-suit computer. "Blast it! They've found the shuttle!"

Torah nodded. "Plan B. Let's go."

Max watched as they grabbed a handcart and loaded the engine parts onto it. Then they started back for the corridor from which they'd come. Max found himself jogging to keep up. "Uh, excuse me? Plan B?"

The trailing security team member, Chief Petty Officer Willis, looked back at him. "Plan B – if the shuttle is captured or destroyed, we seek alternate transportation. We're off to find their docking bay and steal a ship."

Max nodded sullenly. Somehow, Plan B sounded like it took a lot for granted. Like a docking bay with a fueled ship and insufficient guards. "What if we can't find a ship?"

Willis shrugged. "Then we hold them off for two days until the _Expeditious_ can get here."

"Two . . . _days?_"

"Look, if you've got a viable Plan C bouncing around inside that engineer head of yours, now is as good a time as any to share it." The chief watched him expectantly.

Max started to open his mouth, but realized that he honestly had nothing to offer. "Plan B it is."

"Thought so." Willis waited until Max passed, then took up the rear.

Max hustled along, following the security team as they worked their way through the corridors of the base. Twice they were slowed by attacks from the pirates, but so far no one had been injured. Max stepped over the stunned bodies of three more pirates. "Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. Hey! Only forty-three to go!"

Willis gave him a gentle nudge. "Less counting. More hurrying."

Max nodded and picked up the pace. It never paid to annoy heavily armed people who were busy trying to save your life.

Up ahead, the security team stopped. Torah and Scullin ducked in through a door, and Max heard shots fired. After a couple seconds, Scullin poked her head back through the door. "Clear! Let's go!"

The security team hustled through, Willis guiding Max with a hand on his shoulder. Max blinked as they entered a dark room. Several helmet lights switched on, and Max counted another fifteen pirates unconscious on the deck. He made a mental note not to squabble with Torah or Scullin about anything.

Torah pointed into the darkness. "There's a ship on the other end of this hangar. Let's get everything aboard and get out of here."

Max squinted into the shadows extending in the direction Torah had pointed. Even his helmet lights failed to reveal anything beyond a few meters. "Where? I don't see anything."

Willis came up next to him. "Commander Torah has limited infrared capabilities. If he says it's there, it's there. C'mon."

Satisfied, Max started after Willis. The alternative was to be left behind, and somehow that didn't sit well with the engineer. He jogged after Willis, taking care to avoid tripping over fuel lines and cargo trolleys. It didn't take Max long to decide that infrared would be a nice option for all of them, and he made another mental note to suggest that option be built into the standard EV-suit.

Suddenly an arm wrapped around his head and began dragging him backward. It only took an instant to recall that Willis was now ahead of him, and the distinct green tint to the blatantly non-EV-suited arm confirmed that the owner of the arm was probably not overly concerned with Max's best interests. Throwing an elbow back, he heard a whoof and the arm relaxed its grip. Shaking loose, Max sprinted as fast as he could inside the EV-suit, shouting all the while. "Hey! We've got company!"

Willis and another team member appeared out of the darkness ahead, firing stun beams past the fleeing Max. He heard grunts behind him and somehow managed to increase his speed. Ahead of him, he saw running lights as Torah and the rest of the team were running through the small ship's preflight checklist. The deep whine of the main engines warming up sounded like music to the nearly-panicked engineer. Without waiting for an invitation, Max barreled up the loading ramp and into the main compartment. Only after checking to make sure none of the pirates had followed him was he able to calm down enough to begin scanning the pile of recovered components. It didn't take him long to realize the worst. "We've got to go back. One of the ion stabilizers is missing. The _Expeditious_ won't be able to go to warp without it."

Scullin turned around in the copilot's chair and snarled, "You told us we had everything!"

Max shrugged helplessly. "We _did_! It must have fallen off the cart in the hangar!" He stepped to the open hatch and scanned with the tricorder. "Yes! It's thirty meters that way!" He started to run down the ramp when Willis came charging out of the darkness. The chief grabbed Max and bolted back into the ship, slapping the hatch controls as he entered. The hatch cycled shut, and the cabin was filled with the echoes of dozens of AP darts ricocheting off the outer hull.

Max struggled free. "We can't leave without that stabilizer!"

Torah swore under his breath, then suddenly smiled a smile that made Max very nervous. "Tell me, Mr. Davis. Isn't the ion stabilizer installed in the matter/antimatter stream in the nacelles?"

Max was impressed with Torah's knowledge of warp engine design. "Er, yes. But why do you ask?"

Torah winked at Scullin. "Just testing a theory." Turning back to the controls, he raised the shields and armed the ship's main plasma cannon. "Everybody buckle up. This could get a mite bumpy." That said, he fired the weapon.

The scene outside the forward viewport immediately flared into brilliance as the plasma round detonated the methane/hydrogen atmosphere in the hangar. The ship lurched from the explosion, but the shields held. After a few seconds, the fire died as the remnant of the methane and hydrogen atmosphere was sucked out of the gaping hole where the hangar doors had once stood, taking every loose item in the hangar with it. Torah smiled back at Max. "Come up here and calibrate the ship's sensors to look for our ion stabilizer. I'm betting it hasn't gotten far, and it should have weathered the blast quite easily."

Max slipped into the seat Scullin vacated, trying to figure out what had just happened. The blast had incinerated their enemies, but had probably not even tarnished the finish on the hardy ion stabilizer, a piece of equipment built to withstand one of the most destructive forces known to modern science. The only danger to the device now was if it were to smash into a neighboring asteroid before they could recover it. Max smiled as he inputted the data. A dot on the short-range sensors immediately appeared, drifting away at a mere two hundred meters a second.

Five minutes later, Max removed his helmet and breathed in the fresh nitrogen/oxygen atmosphere with which Torah had flooded the ship. The ion stabilizer sat on the heap of equipment in the center of the ship's small cargo hold. The ship was already warping back to the _Expeditious_, which had easily crippled the trio of pirate ships and continued on toward them at full impulse. Max had never been so happy to see a Nebula-class cruiser before.


	5. Chapter 5

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Chapter 5**

Dear Mom and Dad,

Well, things have settled down around here. Most of the damage has been repaired, and the stolen engine components are right back where they belong. It was an exciting time, that's for sure. You know that old 'six months of boredom, six minutes of terror' thing. Well, I got a whole half hour! Guess I'm topped off for the rest of my tour.

Well, I'm planning to take full advantage of my well-earned six months of boredom. I'm working with Ensign Tox this week overhauling the waste recycling facility on the lower decks. Dirty business, but it's got to be done, and I'm not willing to send anyone else to do something I won't do. Of course, Tox has that Bolian gift of extremely poor olfactory senses. He's already asked me about the clothespin I replicated just for the job.

Yep, just a little routine maintenance to pass the time.

Your son,

Max

----- -----

Max wrinkled his nose as he tested the air in the waste recycling chamber. As in his last five cursory examinations of the air quality, it was once again found lacking. "Ew! This place stinks."

Ensign Tox nodded from across the room, where his tricorder was confirming Max's assessment with more precision than his Bolian nose, though even that underdeveloped appendage had no doubts as to the aroma wafting through the air. "Indeed. Are you in fact certain that your replicator duel with Lieutenant Lambert is truly resolved. I seem to remember an incident not long ago when-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. That's over with, Tox." Max thought about it for a moment, then turned his back to Tox and ran a quiet scan of his uniform. Fortunately for Jason, the scan came up clean. This time he wasn't the source of the ghastly odor.

Looking around, he shook his head in frustration. "But what _is?_ I mean, this place _reeks_, and despite its reputation, it's a sealed system. There has to be a leak somewhere, but how can we not detect it?"

The two engineers had been working on the system for almost a week now, replacing several outdated components with modernized replacements and overhauling those that were just being moved out of the way during the upgrade. It had been a messy job to say the least, and both men had spent the better part of a week in EV-suits. But now the work was completed, and all that was supposed to remain were the self-checks and fine tuning of the equipment. Nanites had already scrubbed the room, removing every molecule of stray waste. The smell was most certainly not supposed to be there.

Max sighed. It was time to step back and tackle this problem from a fresh perspective. "Tox, set your tricorder to a particle count. We need to try and figure out where the smell is the strongest. You start over there and I'll start over here. We'll meet in the middle and compare notes."

Tox nodded, and the two men retreated to opposite corners of the room. Max's tricorder clicked away like a twentieth century Geiger counter, and Max smiled at the comparison. As he walked closer to Tox, he watched as the tricorder displayed unusual variations. By the time he met Tox in the center of the chamber, both men were even more baffled. "Lieutenant, my readings were inconclusive. It was almost as if the source of the airborne waste particles was in motion. Look – my readings are fluctuating even now, and I am not moving."

Max nodded. His readings were doing the same thing. He held his tricorder next to Tox's confirming at least that both tricorders were detecting the same thing. And to his dismay, both tricorders had recorded a measurable increase in the number of airborne particles. Whatever it was, it was getting worse.

Max sighed. He knew of only one thing left to do. The change came about after their maintenance. Perhaps they had improperly installed something. "Tox, start at the waste transport receptors and scan the system component by component, verifying that everything was put back together properly. Maybe we missed something with all the upgrades and specification changes. Maybe peg A doesn't quite fit into slot B."

"Peg . . . A?"

"Never mind. Just start scanning for anything that might not be properly reassembled. I'll start at the recycled matter transporters and work my way back. Once again, we'll meet in the middle unless one of us stumbles across our culprit." Max watched as Tox headed back to the large waste recycling tanks, then turned and started scanning the equipment on the other end of the room.

-----

An hour later, the two engineers stared at each other in the middle of the room. Once again, everything had checked out. Yet the smell in the room was now so strong it was almost tangible. Max was at wit's end.

"Phew! Max, what have you done?"

Both men looked over at the entrance to waste recycling in surprise. Jason and Amy stood there, a mixture of horror and disgust marring their features. Max frowned. "What are you guys doing down here?"

Amy covered her mouth. "We got complaints from Tractor Beam Control the next deck up. They thought you'd flooded Waste Management and sewage was about to start oozing up through their deckplates. We thought we'd come down and see if you needed a hand." She gagged a bit, then continued, "Had we known, we would have called instead."

Jason was busy looking around. "I don't get it. The stench is way too strong to not have a big puddle of sewage sitting in the middle of the room."

"Really? We hadn't noticed." Max realized that he and Tox had been exposed so long that they were becoming desensitized to the odor. But now that Jason had pointed it out, he knew the other lieutenant was right. Something didn't add up.

Without a word, the four engineers set out with a new series of diagnostics and tricorder scans. At one point, Max caught Jason scanning him. "Hey!"

Jason grinned. "Hey, yourself! We need to eliminate all probable sources of this stench, right?"

Max shook his head. "It's not me. I already checked, all right?"

Jason laughed, then coughed when the laugh bought him a lungful of the hideous stench. The men returned to their work.

-----

Another half hour was all they could stand, and then they simply had to flee. Returning to the turbolift, they compared notes.

"The intensity is definitely increasing. The particle count is up 1200 percent compared to when Lieutenants Lambert and Peterson joined us." Tox held up his tricorder as proof.

Jason scratched his head. "It's not being transmitted through the air ducts, so how is Tractor Beam Control getting wind of it? I checked the air vent filters, and they're screening the air as advertised."

Amy nodded. "I checked as well, but now we're getting reports from decks 22, 23, and 24. This is spreading, and not through the air ducts."

Max frowned. "But that's impossible. There's no other way to spread an airborne agent." He had a strange thought. "You know, it dawned on me that we're assuming something. We're assuming that this is coming from the sewage somehow. What if the smell is coming from an entirely different source?"

Jason shook his head. "No way. You smelled that. There's nothing else on a Federation starship that smells like that."

Tox looked up from his tricorder with surprise. "No, Lieutenant Davis is correct. These particles are not composed of human waste. While similar in scent, the atomic conposition is entirely different. These particles are inorganic."

"What?" The three humans peered at Tox's tricorder. The elemental breakdown of the particles was undeniably synthetic.

Jason scowled. "We're the victims of a massive stinkbomb. But by whom?"

Max eyed him severely. "Yes, I wonder."

Jason shook his head. "Oh, no. This wasn't my doing, I swear!"

Tox nodded. "I concur. For Lieutenant Lambert to be involved, he would have to acquire four rather rare elements that are unreplicatable. And at least two compounds that my tricorder cannot identify. I do not believe this is a prant."

Max blinked. "A what?"

"A prant. A practical joke."

Max grinned. "You mean a 'prank'. Okay, so we can rule Jason out. But where does that leave us? We still don't know where this is coming from or how it's spreading."

Just then, Max's commbadge chirped. "Jones to Davis. What in blazes have you done down there? I've got reports from all over the ship of a very unpleasant smell."

"Uhh . . . we're working on that, sir. I'll be up to brief you in just a moment." He turned to the trio in the lift with him. "Okay, I'm stuck with trying to explain what little we know to Commander Jones. Tox, identify this stuff. If we know what it is, we might be able to figure out where it's coming from. Commander L'pon in the science labs will probably be willing to help. Jason, you run scans on the movement of this stuff. See if you can identify a pattern to the dispersal. Maybe that'll give us a clue as to how it's getting around. Amy, work on a way to collect what's in the air already. We might not know where it's coming from yet, but maybe we can filter it out as quickly as it appears."

When the turbolift doors opened, the quartet headed out on their individual missions.

-----

When Max left Jones' office, Jason was waiting for him. "Max, you won't believe what's going on. Whatever is making this stench is leaving a residue in the bulkheads. I've found hundreds of spots on the bulkheads, deck, and ceiling surrounding Waste Management. It's like some sort of stink measles. And here's the ugly part – these spots are all over us, too!"

"_What?!_"

Jason nodded. "I'm serious, Max. I rigged a structural fatigue scanner to light up these spots. Look!" He turned the device on himself, and in the pale blue light a bright green spot appeared on Jason's chest. Moving the light around his body, he showed Max seven more such spots. Then he turned the light on Max, and the engineer was horrified to see at least a score of similar spots on himself.

Jason continued. "The spots are simply relatively concentrated areas of contamination. It goes all the way through, like a tunnel or something."

Max looked at the display on the device, and saw that each spot had a path to another spot. Almost like a worm had burrowed through him, leaving a trail of the material.

Jason looked at him with a trace of fear in his eyes. "I think we're being bombarded with some form of radiation. This stuff is going right through us like gamma radiation."

Max shook his head thoughtfully. "No, I don't think so. Certainly nothing that fast. Look – the paths are bent and crooked. Radiation would be going through us so fast that the paths would be perfectly straight. This almost looks like something moving slow just tunneled through us repeatedly. Or," he said grimly, "that there are a lot of them."

Just then Tox returned from the science lab with Commander L'pon. The Vulcan was wearing a respirator, but it was apparent from his strained expression that the superior Vulcan nose was proving itself a liability. "Lieutenant Davis, this situation is unacceptable. You will remove this odor from the ship immediately."

Max sighed. "We're trying, Commander. But we need help identifying it before we can do much of anything. Did Ensign Tox show you what he'd found?"

L'pon nodded. "He did. The particles are a unique combination of elements we know intimately and compounds we have never seen before."

Max swallowed before asking the next question. "Do you know if this substance is toxic?"

L'pon shook his head. "No more so than many of the compounds we expose ourselves to on a daily basis while aboard this vessel. But as with any inert compound, if sufficient quantities of it are ingested into the body, there will eventually be detrimental effects."

Max looked to Tox, hopefully. "Did you determine anything that would help us find out where this stuff is coming from?"

Tox stepped forward. "No, Lieutenant, though we believe it to be coming from an artificial source."

"You mean this was created intentionally?"

L'pon shook his head. "That is not what Ensign Tox stated. We simply believe that such a compound would not form naturally. Something is creating it, possibly as a byproduct of a reaction. There is insufficient evidence to indicate any level of intent in this compound's creation. But it _is_ a synthetic compound, despite its . . ." the Vulcan managed to display expressionless contempt, "apparent biological origin."

Max tried to reconcile that with a theory of his own that was still in the larval stage. Turning the structural inspection scanner on himself again, he lifted the display screen to L'pon's viewing level. "What do you make of this?"

L'pon's eyebrow arched. "Interesting. The contaminant has a very unique dispersal pattern throughout your body. The contamination levels do not appear to be dangerous, but certainly limiting future exposure is recommended."

Max took the scanner over to the nearest bulkhead and moved it along until he found another of the spots. A quick analysis of the spot verified that there was indeed some sort of contaminant trail that permeated the entire thickness of the bulkhead. And the spot was of almost exactly the same shape and size as the ones one him and Jason. "Computer, using this tricorder's data, scan the ship for all areas of contamination."

"The ship currently has six hundred fourteen thousand, three hundred seventy-five areas of contamination, including one thousand eight hundred and four instances of _Expeditious_ personnel contamination."

Max gaped. This was worse than he'd imagined. "Computer, analyze the patterns of the contamination residue. Compose a three-dimensional model of an object that could make that pattern while traveling through the affected materials and send it to holodeck one." He grinned at everyone watching him. "Come on. I've got a hunch."

They looked at each other, then followed Max as he jogged for the turbolift.

-----

"Oh, that is _so_ disgusting!"

Amy had joined them in the holodeck, and was staring at the sluglike model that hung in the air in front of them. "You mean those are flying around the ship, going through bulkheads – through _us_ – and leaving slime trails? _Eeeeeew!_" She squirmed at the thought.

Max frowned. The model was naturally vague, but it did resemble nothing more than a six-inch long garden slug one would find in hydroponics. "Computer, scan the ship using low-level tachyon particle projectors. Record all moving anomalies."

The computer chirped its working sound, then fell silent for several seconds. When it responded, Max realized he'd been holding his breath. "There are nine hundred fifty-two separate anomalies on board or within fifty meters of the hull. Origin unknown."

Max whistled. "That's a lot of slugs. Computer, capture one anomaly using containment fields."

"Attempt unsuccessful. Anomaly is unaffected by containment fields."

There went that idea. "Computer, analyze the anomalies. Are they organic?"

"Analysis inconclusive. The anomalies do not register on standard scans."

Max looked at the others present. "Any ideas?"

L'pon thought for a moment. "Perhaps we're dealing with some form of transphasic life form. That would explain the invisible, intangible nature of these anomalies."

Max nodded. It was the best suggestion he'd heard yet. "Computer, scan for transphasic anomalies. Analyze and evaluate for organic or inorganic status."

"Anomalies are not carbon-based. Accessing xenobiology library for non-carbon-based lifeforms." After a brief pause, "No known non-carbon-based lifeforms match the anomalies."

Max thought hard about that. Were they dealing with some form of transphasic robotic attack? "Computer, analyze the contamination as a possible attack."

"Probability is one in seventy-four thousand, three hundred and fifty eight. Effectiveness of theoretical assault at current levels would cause crew incapacitation in seven point three months."

Max nodded. Well, that sounded hopeful. "Computer, create a three-dimensional model of the scanned anomalies. Is there a center to their movements?"

The requested model appeared next to the first. This one had more detail, and was apparently a cross between a slug and an armadillo. "The anomalies are centered on the Waste Management storage tanks on deck twenty three."

_So there _is_ a connection._ "Okay, guys. Seems like we've got something they want. Any ideas where they came from?"

Tox studied his tricorder, then made some hasty mental calculations. "I believe we may have inadvertently attracted some of them while our waste recycling tanks were disassembled. Their waste products are apparently quite similar to ours. It's possible that they detected our waste and mistook it for evidence of more of their own kind."

Max mulled that one over. "So they're looking for buddies?"

"Or mates," L'pon added.

"_Eeeew!_"

Tox looked puzzled. "Lieutenant Peterson, why do you express such personal discomfort at the mention of an alien species' mating habits? It's not as if you were being invited to-"

"Okaythat'sallIwanttohearaboutthat!" Amy glared at Tox, and the Bolian wisely said nothing further.

Max, however, wasn't quite so eager to let that line of thought go. "If they're looking for mates, can we use that to lure them away from the ship?"

L'pon nodded. "It would seem that simply beaming the contents of the waste recycling tanks into space near the ship would draw them away."

Max grinned. "Of course! Once the creatures leave the ship, we warp away and leave them to do whatever they were doing before we attracted them." He looked at Amy, who was looking a little queasy. "Did you come up with something to get rid of the contamination already on board? We've got a heck of a mess to clean up, and I don't know if we're ever going to get rid of that smell."

Amy nodded. "We can rig the deflector dish to bathe the ship in low-level midions. That will break the particles down into their basic elements, and nanites can be created to collect them. Once we've rid ourselves of these pests, it can be done in under a half hour."

Commander Jones entered the holodeck, looking irritated. "Well, Davis? Have we solved the problem yet?"

Max nodded. "I think we have, Commander. We just need to . . ."

-----

Two hours later, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The computer confirmed that their bizarre hitchhikers had remained behind with the contents of the waste recycling tanks, and the _Expeditious_ was once again on course for her next destination. Amy's midion sweep was as effective as anyone had dared hope, and the aroma had dissipated almost immediately.

Max grinned. The best part of it all was that he had been able to conclusively prove that it wasn't his fault.


	6. Chapter 6

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Chapter 6**

Dear Mom and Dad,

Well, I've got to tell you. If I never set foot in Waste Management again, it'll be too soon. I think I might have my sense of smell back in time for my promotion to admiral, but probably not before then.

L'pon, our science officer, has threatened to name the creatures we discovered after me, but I think I was able to talk him out of it. Having a stinky transphasic poop slug named after me isn't how I want to be remembered. With luck, the Federation will never encounter them again, though I wouldn't shed too many tears if the Ferengi came across them. Maybe I should have planted a salvage beacon in the waste . . .

Commander Jones told me I have company waiting at Starbase 61 for the _Expeditious'_ arrival. Are you guys coming out for a visit? I can't imagine who else would fly all the way out here just to see me during a week layover. But the timing is good – we're being booted off the ship for a level two baryon sweep. I won't have a thing to do all week.

Well, gotta go recycle another uniform. This one still has just a hint of Waste Management on it, and that's more than I care to sport on a bad day.

Your son,

Max

----- -----

Max stepped out of the docking clamp and onto the starbase proper, his personal effects for the week in the duffle bag hanging off his shoulder. He marveled at how bases and starships were both designed and built by the same people, yet had such different feels to them. He knew – he _knew_ without looking that he was on a base. He assumed that it had something to do with the warp reactor's configuration. Bases used their warp reactors simply to power the myriad station systems, so the vibration through the deckplates was different. Or so he'd heard. But standing there on the starbase's terminal, he suspected that there was quite a bit of truth to the rumor.

He looked around, hoping to spot his parents. His father was taller than he was, but his mother barely made the five foot mark, so he knew he'd never spot her in the crowd that was milling about by the docking ring. But he didn't see his father, either, so he hefted his duffle bag and started off toward the promenade.

"Max! _Max!_ I'm over here!"

Max froze. Part of him was refusing to recognize the voice. The other part of him was telling him to start running. Instead he turned and spotted the face he was least happy to see.

_Hannah._

A slender blonde wiggled through the crowd and ran up to Max. When she reached him, she leapt upon him, nearly knocking him down as she hugged and kissed him. "Max! I've missed you!"

Max dropped his duffle bag and fought to extricate himself from Hannah's embrace. "What are you doing here?"

Hannah smiled. "Your mom told me the _Expeditious_ was going to dock here for a week's shore leave. I didn't want you to have to spend it alone, so I caught an express to be here when you arrived. Isn't it great?"

Max gritedt his teeth. He wanted nothing more than to return to the _Expeditious_ and hide in one of the nacelles until it was time to leave, baryon sweep or not, but he knew his mother would have his head if he didn't treat Hannah properly. "Yeah. Great."

Hannah's smile widened. "I've been checking out the facilities around here, and if you're interested, I've got a few things we can do together."

Max eyed her suspiciously. "Do any of these things involve a surprise visit to the local chapel?"

Hannah's smile faltered just for an instant. "No! Heh, heh. Nothing to do with the chapel."

Max remembered the impromptu wedding Hannah had arranged for them on the eve of his departure for the Academy. The senior chaplain, a venerable fellow by the name of Allen Winston, was so nearsighted and deaf that he was affectionately referred to by the other chaplains as Allen Keller. So when the 'eager' elopers arrived by transporter, Chaplain Winston failed to notice that the groom was loudly protesting his presence, her presence, the chaplain's presence, and most anything in his line of sight. He also failed to notice how tightly the blushing bride was twisting the groom's arm behind his back. So it was with no small personal satisfaction that he pronounced them husband and wife. Had Max not given his father power of attorney to annul the marriage, the woman standing before might even now be Mrs. Hannah Davis.

His frown remained engraved on his face. "Good. Understand this – we've known each other since you punched me out in the second grade. We've been friends. Nothing more. Got it?"

Hannah nodded. "Got it, Max. We're just chums out together for a week of casual fun."

"Right." Max felt a red flag pop up in the back of his brain, and after years of dealing with Hannah, Max knew to heed these flags. He needed back-up. "So have you eaten yet?"

Hannah grinned. "No. I'm famished."

Max pointed to the Bajoran restaurant/pub on the other side of the promenade. "I need to drop my bag off in my station quarters, so let me meet you back here in fifteen minutes."

Hannah's smile twitched again. "You're not going to ditch me again, are you? I came so far to spend time with you." She looked up at him, her smile taking on a wicked twist. "What would your mother say?"

"She'd stuff me in a photon torpedo tube and fire me into the sun. We both know this. You needn't threaten me with this unsavory little tidbit of knowledge." Max managed to keep his expression neutral. "Just let me drop my stuff off. I'll be right back. Promise."

Hannah pouted. "Okay, Max. I'll wait right here. With bells on!" She wiggled suggestively. Max assumed she was trying to tell him where said bells might be attached.

Max nodded, then headed off. Despite his promise, he debated appealing to the local Tellarite ambassador for one week of asylum. Only two things stopped him. The first was simply that the threat Hannah had made concerning his mother was very real. And the second, more practical reason was that Hannah had also studied engineering and was probably very fluent in the deckplans of this starbase, to include every potential hiding place.

Instead, Max went with the next best thing. He dropped off his bag, then began hunting down a chaperone. Then he spotted Lieutenant Peterson entering one of the shops on the other end of the promenade. "Amy!"

Amy looked up, surprised. "Max?"

Max skidded to a halt in front of her. "Amy, I need you right now!"

Amy blinked. "Excuse me?"

Max rolled his eyes. "Not like that! Remember that woman I told you about – the one that forced me to marry her?"

Amy blinked again. "You're _married?_"

Max hung his head in frustration. "No. Obviously I never told you about her." He looked back at Amy again. "She's not my wife. I got that annulled. She's just a crazy wanna-be girlfriend. Problem is she's here, and I need an escort to keep her at bay."

Amy smiled, amused at Max's discomfort. "You want me to pose as your girlfriend?"

Max shook his head. "No, no. Just _be_ there. She's less likely to pull anything with witnesses around."

Amy laughed. "Why not. I'll do it. But you, Mr. Davis, will owe me big for this."

Max nodded, relieved. "Fine, fine. Let's go."

Amy frowned. "What? You mean _now_?"

Max grabbed her hand and started dragging her toward the restaurant. "Uh, _yeah_!"

Amy groaned. "Max, I think the price just went up."

The pair wound their way through the crowd to where an unpleasantly surprised Hannah waited. "Who's she?"

Max smiled a genuine smile now. "Hannah, this is Lieutenant Amy Peterson, a fellow engineer. Amy, this is Hannah Morgenson, an old friend of mine from Utopia Planetia."

Amy smiled warmly. "Pleased to meet you."

Hannah's smile was somewhat cooler. "Charmed."

Max liked the reaction. "Let's go grab a table, shall we? I'm starving!" Without waiting for Hannah's response, Max escorted the ladies to the nearest non-intimate table he could find. Ordinarily he avoided the table next to the buffet, but today he was more than happy to brave the elbows of the other diners. The more miserable the experience, the better. He wanted nothing more than for Hannah to decide that life with Max was less than desirable.

Amy smiled. "So how long have you known Max?"

Hannah favored Amy with an ice-cold stare. "Far longer than you, I can assure you."

Amy frowned a bit at Hannah's rudeness, but took it in stride. She knew she was there to be the romance blocker, and this was a hazard of the job. "I can imagine. You two must be great friends for you to have come all the way out here to see him."

"We're very close." Hannah reached over and put her hand on Max's.

Max snatched his hand away like it had been burned. "Yes, we're old _friends._" His emphasis on the word friends drew a minute pout from Hannah, but she hid it almost immediately. "So tell me about your new friend, Max. Angie, was it?"

"Amy," Max corrected. "Amy Peterson. She's a fellow engineer on the _Expeditious_. I met her the day I checked in. We've been working together for . . . three months now, right?"

Amy nodded. "Yep. It's just been a roller-coaster ride with Max around. He seems to bring a lot of energy to the job."

Hannah smiled. "So what has my Maxie been up lately? When we worked together on Utopia Planetia, he was quite the handyman." Under the table, her knee pressed up against his. Max jumped, then slid his chair a few inches away from Hannah. She grinned at him, then returned her attention to Amy.

Amy hadn't noticed the activity under the table. "Max is a very good engineer. Two weeks ago, we had an infestation of transphasic parasites that were contaminating the entire ship. Max was able to figure out what was happening and get rid of them. Without his original thinking, I shudder to think of what would have happened."

Max nodded. There were still a few places on the ship that had a hint of the stench. If they hadn't lured the creatures away when they did, he firmly believed the starbase would have quarantined them all.

Hannah looked at Max with admiration. "Is that right? My Maxie – saving the day."

Max squirmed under the attention. This wasn't quite going the way he'd expected. When the waiter arrived, Max was thrilled for the break in the conversation. "Three raktajinos and three buffets, please." He looked at Amy and Hannah. "If that's all right with you."

Amy nodded. Hannah acquiesced, though Max could tell she'd been hoping for something a little more intimate. Max grabbed his plate and stepped over to the buffet, congratulating himself on his brilliance. Whenever Hannah started getting frisky, he could simply excuse himself to reload his plate. He made a mental note to remember this trick the next time he went home to visit his parents. His mother, ever the matchmaker, almost always invited Hannah along for at least two family meals whenever he was back.

Loading a number of Bajoran delicacies on his plate, he snuck a peek at the table. Amy and Hannah were sitting there in what looked like an awkward silence. After a second, Amy grabbed her plate and worked her way to the buffet. Hannah stared at her plate for a moment, then followed suit, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the entire affair. Max fought the urge to do a jig.

When Hannah returned to the table, Max and Amy were already seated and wolfing their food down. Max noticed that Hannah had very little on her plate. He shook his head. "Hannah, there's way too much good food over there for you to come back to the table with a plate like that."

Hannah settled into her seat. "I've got to watch my girlish figure, Max. You wouldn't want me to balloon up like a puffer fish, would you?" Her gaze settled on Amy.

Amy blushed. She had an athletic build, certainly nowhere near obese, but next to Hannah's willowy frame, she looked solidly built. "I-well, I . . ." She faded into an uncomfortable silence. Finally she put her fork down and looked at Max directly. "Max, do you think I'm fat?"

Max blinked. "Huh?" This was a turn he hadn't expected. "No! Certainly not! You look fine."

Amy favored Hannah with a satisfied gaze, then took another bite of the food on her plate. Hannah's eyes narrowed.

Max decided a change of subject might not be a bad idea. He smiled at Hannah. "So how have you kept busy this year?"

Hannah thought about her answer. "I've been working with your parents on the Phoenix prototype, among other things. They miss you, you know. If you'd just let them talk to Admiral Clorman, I know he'd get you reassigned to Utopia Planetia."

Max grimaced. Leave it to Hannah to turn the conversation right back to his departure from home. Well ten years of dealing with Hannah had taught him a thing or two about manipulating conversations. "The Phoenix, eh? Dad was telling me a little about that. Just the unclassified stuff, of course, since I'm not on the project. How are the rotating deflectors working out?"

Hannah smiled. "Amazing. They take fifty percent more damage before failing, and repel a much broader energy spectrum."

Amy nodded, impressed. "Really? That's phenomenal. Are they considering upgrading existing systems with this?"

Hannah gave Amy an 'are you still here' look. "Probably not. The power grids of the older ships aren't up to handling this kind of power. It would take a year to upgrade an old clunker like that one." She pointed to the viewport, where the _Expeditious'_ saucer section eclipsed the local sun.

Amy frowned. "The Nebula class is one of Starfleet's most efficient designs. More versatile than the Galaxies and more cost effective, while retaining almost all of the mission capabilities of the larger cruisers."

Hannah favored Amy with a condescending stare. "I'm sure it's fairly effective for now, but we're talking about the future of Starfleet. In twenty years, the Nebulas will be consigned to local system patrols and freighter escort duty. The ones that aren't mothballed, that is."

Max scowled. "Be nice, Hannah. We all know the Nebula is an older starship. My parents designed them while you and I were learning long division. But it's a good ship, and worthy of Starfleet's attention until the newer designs are in place. I happen to think it's one of the best ships patrolling Federation space."

Hannah blushed, embarrassed at having inadvertently insulted Max's parents. "Sorry. Sometimes I get emotionally involved in my work."

Amy shrugged, the slight forgotten. "That's easy to do. We engineer types seem to fall in love with our projects very easily."

Hannah brightened. "So what's your specialty, Amy? Are you a general engineer, or do you have a specific field of study?"

Amy blushed a bit. "Right now I'm functioning as a standard engineer, but in the Academy I majored in warp propulsion theory."

Hannah's jaw dropped. "Really? That's _my_ area of expertise! How current are you on the latest theories?"

Amy smiled, excited to have someone to talk shop with. "I try to keep up with the latest published articles. I was reading Dr. Ballenger's paper on warp field inversion and how it could be harnessed to increase field strength."

Hannah grinned ear to ear. "That was fascinating, wasn't it? I thought the whole concept of rerouting the field tensor overflow back into the primary generator was sheer genius. At first I thought he was crazy, but then I read the formula and saw how perfectly it fit."

Max watched as the two ladies dove into a detailed discussion of warp propulsion. At last, things were settling down. He snatched the last bite from his plate, then stood. "If you ladies will excuse me, I think I'm going to get a refill."

Neither woman looked up, and Max allowed himself a victorious grin as he left the table. _Who knows – with any luck, Hannah will hang out with Amy for the week and leave me be._

Max wandered over to the far side of the buffet, checking out the Klingon entrees. He poked one promising dish. It poked back. Max kept his distance and returned to the more familiar end of the buffet.

A glance confirmed that Hannah and Amy were still having a great discussion. What little guilt he felt at having dragged Amy away from her plans melted away. While he dreaded Hannah's schemes to marry him, he felt no malice toward her, and was pleased that his strategy was turning into a pleasant experience for her. After all, they _were_ friends, if oddly stressed, squabbly ones.

His plate filled again, he wandered back to the table. Neither woman even noticed him as he sat down.

Amy laughed. "You don't know the half of it. When the Naussican looked back at him and asked if the warp engines were back on-line, he _fainted!_"

Hannah shrieked. "Oh, that's so funny! Did he ever tell you about the time he got stuck in a plasma vent?"

Amy grinned. "No! This ought to be good."

Hannah leaned forward conspiratorily. "You see, we have this Epsilon Beta generator powering the replicators. You know, the Mark III? Well anyway, Max decides he's going to give the replicators a little boost to see if he can get them to exceed their rated production maximum, and-"

Max cleared his throat. "A-huh-huh-hum!! I don't think Amy wants to be bored with that." Clearly, things were getting a little _too_ chummy between these two.

Amy smiled. "Oh, I don't mind. Sounds like you've had several adventures before you ever set foot on the _Expeditious_. I thought you said Utopia Planetia was boring."

Max shook his head. "I said I was eager to work on a warp propulsion system, and Utopia Planetia doesn't sport one of those. There's a difference."

Hannah raised an eyebrow at him. "We maintain and field test over fifty different warp engines in our various prototypes. If a moving warp core was all you were looking for, you overlooked quite a few."

Max knew that Hannah knew that one of the main reasons for his departure from Utopia Planetia was sitting here chatting with the two _Expeditious_ engineers, but he decided not to take such a blunt approach. "It's not the same, Hannah. Here we work on the system that keeps us alive and moving. If one of the warp engines fails on a prototype, the chaser ship will offload the test crew before they can even think about getting hungry. If the _Expeditious'_ warp engines fail, then it's up to us to get her running again. The mindset is completely different."

Hannah nodded. "I think I understand. But I still miss you. Do you intend to return to Utopia Planetia after your tour with the _Expeditious_?"

Max shrugged. "I honestly don't know. But that's too far in the future for me to say. Right now, I'm living day to day. I don't feel the need to transfer."

Hannah smiled. "Well, I suppose I could stand family quarters on a Nebula for a while. Of course, if you get promoted, we'll have more room."

Max sighed. So it was back to the same old dance again. "Hannah, I'm not planning on marrying you in the foreseeable future."

Hannah pouted again. "And why not?" She jabbed an accusing finger at Amy. "Are you dating her?"

Max blinked. "Huh? I-"

Amy leaned over and put her arm through his. "Yes. Yes he is."

Max gaped at Amy. "I am?"

Hannah frowned. "Oh, really. Since when?"

Amy smiled. "Over a month now. We've grown quite fond of each other."

Hannah looked at Max. "Is that true?"

Max was shocked to find himself nodding. He looked around for viable escape routes. Hannah had been known to throw a punch or three with less provocation.

Hannah smiled suddenly. "Well, then I guess congratulations are in order. I've been chasing him for two decades, and never got a second look from him."

Amy shrugged. "I'm just lucky, I guess."

Hannah smiled at Max, but her eyes told a different story. "And what about you, Max? Have you been 'lucky' lately?"

Max blushed at the thought. "_Hannah!_ That's none of your business!" He stopped short of answering, not sure which answer, if any would keep Amy from killing him. He hadn't expected this twist in their deception and was still trying to get a handle on the new rules.

Hannah studied Max for a few minutes. "My apologies." She turned to Amy. "I'm sorry. That was rude."

Amy nodded. "That's all right. Max _is _quite a catch."

Max was totally flustered. He'd never intended for Amy to pose as his girlfriend. He'd just wanted her along to deflect Hannah. "Oh, look! My plate is empty again! Guess I'll get some more." He popped up, disentangling himself from Amy, and hurried over to the buffet. While heaping random samples of Bajoran cuisine on his plate, he tried to watch the two women as they talked at the table. If a fight broke out, Max wasn't sure if he was going to try to break it up or run for help.

Five minutes of indecision later, he looked down at his plate and saw more food than he could eat in two days. Tired of stalling, he worked his way back to the table. The ladies were laughing again – a good sign. He sat back down and forced a smile. "What did I miss?"

Amy was still laughing. "So you held him down and cut off all his hair?"

Hannah giggled. "Well, he started it. I told him not to mess with my ponytail, but you know nine-year-old boys . . ."

Amy elbowed Max, spilling his forkload of beans. "Max, you were quite a little devil when you were younger."

Max grinned weakly. "Uh, yeah, well I was an only child. Sometimes you have to improvise. Although," he leaned forward, his expression hardening slightly, "I remember a certain young lady telling me I was too chicken to cut off her ponytail, so who was really the instigator here?"

Hannah held her hands up. "Guilty. I've always been too outgoing for my own good."

Max nodded. _That was the understatement of the century._

Amy took another bite. "There's nothing wrong with being a little aggressive. Sometimes that's the only way to get what you want."

Hannah cocked her head. "I guess that's true."

Amy looked over at Max. "What's your take on that?"

Max chewed and swallowed a huge bite, nearly choking on it. Grabbing his raktajino, he took several gulps, then coughed a few times. "Well, there's a time and a place for it. But being constantly aggressive is a problem. It can drive people away from you." His eyes never left Hannah's. She stared right back, and he finally looked away.

Hannah smiled at Amy. "Well, since you agree that being aggressive is sometimes appropriate, you'll forgive me if I'm a bit forward. I think you're pulling my leg. I think Max told you to say you were dating him. I don't think you two are involved at all."

Amy blushed a bit. "We are, too!"

Hannah's grin turned evil. "Fine. Kiss him. Kiss him like you mean it, and I'll believe you."

Amy blushed a lot. "No! I mean, I don't have to prove anything to you."

Hannah smiled even wider. "Yes you do. Because if you don't convince me that you and Max are dating, then it's open season on Mr. Davis here, and I've got a week to chase him."

Amy looked at Max, then back at Hannah. "Fine!" Standing, she grabbed Max's head and tilted it back, then planted a very passionate kiss on his lips. After a few seconds, she broke the liplock and glared at Hannah. "There. Happy?"

Hannah nodded, but her grin remained. "Oh, yes. I'm quite satisfied." She stood up and pushed in her chair. "You two have fun. I'll be around." That said, she headed out.

Amy watched Hannah depart, then turned to Max. "Sorry, Max. I – Max?"

Max sat there, rigid. His eyes were squinted shut, and his head was right where she'd left it.

Amy sighed. "Well, that didn't work. Sorry, Max."

She frowned. "You know, I'll be dipped in phaser coolant before I let her win. You and I just became an item for the rest of the week. Whaddya say, Maxie?"

"Max?"

Max still hadn't moved. Amy sighed. "You're not making this easy, you know."

-----

"Look. I just don't feel comfortable pretending we're dating, all right? I don't like lying about something like that." Max looked down at Amy as the pair headed for their station quarters. It was convenient that their quarters were adjacent. All the engineering staff had been billeted in the same wing of the starbase's guest quarters.

Amy groaned. "Max, look. Unless we can convince her that we're dating, then she's not going to give you a moment's rest. She all but said so! Is that what you want?"

Max shook his head. "What I want is a week of peace and quiet. Doesn't look like I'm getting it anytime soon."

Amy laughed. "Just remember – you asked for my help here. Don't start getting picky about how I help."

"Well, we're here." She stretched up on tip-toes and kissed Max on the cheek. "See you on the racquetball court in a half hour, sweetie!" Before Max could react, she entered her own quarters, leaving him standing in front of his own like a homeless person.

Max finally collected his wits enough to enter his own quarters. Stepping into the room, he frowned in the darkness. Computer, lights."

The lights came on, and Max let out a yelp. Hannah was sitting on his bed, wrapped in a towel. "About time you got here, Max. I've been waiting for an hour. Did it take you that long to ditch her?"

Max was outraged. "What are you doing in my quarters?"

Hannah grinned. "I'm sitting on your bed in a towel waiting for you in the dark. You have to ask?" She pulled off the towel and threw it at him with a laugh.

Max averted his eyes. "Hannah! Put some clothes on! You've gone too far this time!"

Hannah's voice replied cheerfully, "Oh, settle down, Max. Look – I'm dressed."

Max snuck a peek, and was relieved to see Hannah was in a t-shirt, shorts, and sneakers. Then he noticed that the clothes were probably two sizes too small. "Jeez, Hannah. Did you paint those clothes on?"

Hannah struck a pose. "You like them?"

Max sighed. "Not particularly. Hannah, look. I already know you're a very beautiful woman, okay? Stop trying to throw yourself at me. You deserve more respect than that."

Hannah sighed. "I know – but you won't give me a chance." She stalked over to his replicator. "T-shirt and shorts, women's size seven." The clothing materialized and she swept them up on her way to the bathroom. "I'll just change in here if you don't mind."

Max threw his hands over his head. "Mind? Why would I mind? After all, you're only breaking into my quarters and using my replicator. What's to mind?"

Hannah peeked out the bathroom door. "Thanks, Max. You're a sweetheart."

Max replicated a racquetball outfit for himself, then sat on the bed waiting for Hannah to emerge. When she did, her clothing was much more modest. "Is this more to your liking, Max?"

Max nodded as he slipped past her into the bathroom. Locking the door, he quickly changed. Returning to the bedroom, he looked around suspiciously, but Hannah was nowhere to be seen. Grabbing his racquet, he stepped out into the corridor.

Hannah and Amy were talking in front of Amy's quarters. Max noted with dismay that Hannah also had a racquet. Fearing the worst, he said, "Ready?"

Both women nodded. Hannah grinned. "Amy told me it was all right if we played a few three-player matches today." She stepped close to Max and winked as she whispered, "You know, a little cut-throat."

Max swallowed, confirming that it hadn't been his throat cut. At least, not yet.

-----

Max sat on Amy's bed, shaking his head. "Look, it's time to end this. She knows darn well we're not dating. All you're doing is wasting your time off. Why don't you go ahead and get on with your vacation, and let me handle Hannah. Heaven knows, this is nothing new to me. I go through this every time I go home."

"No! I'm determined to see this through, Max." Amy paced back and forth. "You and I are going to convince Hannah that we're romantically involved if it kills us."

Max had a mental image of Hannah doing just that. "Maybe that's not such a good-"

Amy snapped her fingers. "I've got it! Come on! We're off to the holodeck for a romantic weekend adventure."

Max followed her as she dashed out of her quarters and raced down the corridor toward the turbolifts. "Wait a minute! How is that going to change anything? She'll know we're faking it!" He jogged after her.

Back in Amy's quarters, a slight shadow shifted, and suddenly Hannah stood there with a grin. "Love those JemHadar stealth nets. Sometimes it's good to work in a research lab. So the deception is stepping up a notch, eh? Well, I can step with the best of them." She tapped a button, and the stealth net reactivated with a shimmer. The door opened apparently by itself, and closed a moment later.

-----

Max flipped up the visor on his helmet. "I don't know how this is going to keep Hannah off our backs, but I have to admit this looks like fun." Max stood on a grassy hill overlooking a massive golden castle. Behind him, his white charger pawed the ground with a heavy hoof, eager to begin the quest.

Amy had explained the whole thing while programming the holodeck. Max was to ride out to fight the dragon and rescue the fair maiden. Amy, of course, would play the fair maiden. Max had tried to explain that simply acting out a holodeck fantasy would do little to deter Hannah, but Amy refused to abandon the idea. Max had finally agreed, more out of a desire to play the knight than out of any real hope that Amy's plan would succeed.

With a final glance at the castle, Max hefted himself onto the back of the steed and began riding up the road toward the last known location of the dragon's lair. The scenery rolled by as the horse galloped along, and Max worried for a moment that he was going to end up being thrown. But he remembered that Amy had programmed the holodeck to incorporate most of the safeguards. Max was as safe on the horse as he was in his own bed.

Cresting a hill, Max slowed the steed to a walk as he took in the change of scenery. The once-lush grass of the plain before him was crisscrossed with charred streaks. Several trees were little more than smoldering stumps, and two of them were broken off at the roots. The road continued on to the left, but the single mountain to the right caught his eye. A large cave gaped in the side of the mountain, and smoke rose from it in thin tendrils that reached for the sun. If ever there was a dragon's lair, that was it.

Max dismounted, then slapped the horse on the rump and sent it galloping off. After he rescued Amy, he could fetch the horse for their ride back to the castle. Drawing his sword, he clomped toward the cave. When he reached the entrance, he spotted a lit torch mounted to the wall. Pulling it free, he peered into the gloomy cavern. With a grin, he shouted, "Foul dragon! I, Sir Davis, have come to demand that you release the fair maiden you've abducted! Free her, or die by my sword!" He tried unsuccessfully to suppress the giggle at the end. He'd dreamed of saying those words, but had never gotten around to programming the holodeck for it.

A tremendous roar echoed from deep within the cavern. Then a terrible voice that was half hiss and half earthquake spoke. "Sir Davis, you have taken up a fool's quest. I will cook you where you stand." Suddenly from out of the shadows a huge gout of fire blasted out at him, completely enveloping him.

Max winced despite himself. He knew that Amy had programmed the 'magic' sword to protect him from the dragon's deadly flames. He further knew that the holodeck safeguards were firmly in place. Once the fire abated, Max laughed. "Ha! Your fire is weak, old dragon. Perhaps you need an air vent to heat things up. I'll come in there and cut a new one for you."

Max clanked into the cavern, the torch and sword held at the ready. Without warning five goblins charged out at him from a secret door in the side of the cave. Max grinned as he quickly dispatched the evil quintet. "Your minions are pathetic, dragon! Come and face me, you old lizard!"

"Sir Davis, help!"

Max's grin widened as he heard Amy's voice. "Be of good cheer, Lady Peterson! After I have vanquished this foul beast, I shall release you from your bonds."

A massive scaled tail lashed out from around a corner, catching Max in the chest and knocking him backward. He flew several feet, then slammed against the far wall and crumpled to the ground. The dragon's massive head peered around the corner at him. "Welcome, Sir Davis."

Max groaned. "Ow! That hurt!" He struggled to his feet, nursing his ribs on his left side. "Amy, are the safety interlocks working?"

"Yes, Max – er, I mean, Sir Davis. I left a few off so it wouldn't bore you."

Max sighed. _Swell_. "Any other safeties not in place?"

"No, Sir Davis. Just the physical manifestation of the dragon. Take him down, Max!"

Max drew his sword, fascinated by the bluish glow surrounding the blade. "All right, dragon. Now it's _you_ who will feel pain from me!" Raising his sword over his head, he charged toward the dragon-

-And ran headlong into the mighty creature's tail again. Max tumbled backward like an armored bowling ball, coming to rest against the same spot on the wall where he'd ended up before. "_Ow!_ Amy, this dragon's kicking me around like a soccerball!"

"Sorry! Hold on." Max heard her voice, but couldn't decipher what she was saying. "Okay, Max. Try it now!"

Max struggled to his feet again, thankful that the dragon had walloped him on his right side this time. The dragon stomped into view, menacing him. But somehow, the dragon felt less menacing. Max raised his sword and advanced more cautiously. "Third time's a charm, you overgrown gecko."

This time Max dodged the tail when it swung at him, and he managed to lop off a good five feet of it before the beast could pull it back to safety. The dragon's roar of pain deafened Max, but he continued to advance. The dragon swiped at him with its foreleg claws, nearly taking his head off. Max dodged the claws, then dove in for the kill. Darting between the dragon's legs, he slammed the blade deep into the monster's side. With a howl of agony, the dragon collapsed and was still.

Max retrieved his sword, cleaning it with a rag before sheathing it. Then he looked around, seeking Amy. Finally he spotted her, chained to the wall on the far side of the main cavern. Max stumbled over to where she stood waiting. "Got a key?"

Amy pointed to a key hung on a spike ten meters away. "The key hangs there, Sir Davis. Release me, and we shall flee from this place."

Max grunted, the pain in his ribs draining most of the fun out of the scene. Walking over, he snatched the key off the wall and tromped back over to where Amy waited. He unlocked her, then turned to look at the dragon. "That was a nasty critter you programmed. Didn't you realize that I don't have any real fighting ski-_ow!!!_"

Amy hugged him tightly. "You've saved me, Sir Davis. How can I ever repay you?"

Max fought free of her embrace, then sat down on the ground. "_Owowowowowow!_"

Amy knelt beside him. "Are you all right?"

Max nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I just need a minute to tell my ribs they're fine."

Amy started unbuckling his armor. "Here. Let me help you out of that armor." Max accepted Amy's help gratefully. Soon the plate mail lay in pieces all over the floor. Amy lifted Max's shirt up so she could look at his ribs. "I think you'll be okay. It should just make some deep bruises."

Max groaned as she helped him to his feet. Amy lifted his arm and draped it over her shoulder, eliciting another grunt. "Let's get you back to your quarters, okay?"

Max nodded. "Sounds like a good idea."

Amy looked up. "Arch." The doors to the holodeck appeared, in the rough wall of the cave. When they opened, Amy and Max stepped through into the corridor of the starbase. From there they made their way to Max's quarters.

Max flopped on the bed, eager to fall asleep and let nature take its course. But Amy unbuttoned his jersey and eased it off his shoulders. Max frowned up at her. "Uh, Amy? What are you doing?"

Amy gave him a stern look. "I'm going to rub you down. Those bruises are going to hurt badly enough tomorrow with proper attention. If you just go to sleep on them, they'll be awful when you wake up. Now roll over and lay still."

Max started to protest, but Amy rolled him over and the protest ended up muffled in his pillow. Then Amy started massaging the bruises, causing him to wince at first. "Sorry, is that too rough?"

"Yblfff."

Amy began again, trying hard to be more gentle this time. "Is that better?"

"Yblfff."

Amy continued to rub Max's sides. "You know, you have a pretty good build for an engineer. Do you work out?"

"Nrfff."

Max relaxed as Amy continued to soothe his injuries, and he was thankful for her attention. But something nagged at the edges of his consciousness. Something here just didn't seem right.

Then she started to ease his trousers off and it all fell into place. "Hblfaf?"

Amy frowned at him. "What was that, dear?"

Max rolled over and glared at her. "Hannah, I don't know how you're doing this, but stop it!"

Amy blinked in surprise. "What are you talking about, Max?"

Max scowled. "There's only one way you could be doing this. Holodeck – end program."

His quarters dissolved, replaced by the black and yellow grid of the holodeck. Unfortunately, the bed he'd been laying on also dissolved, and he fell two feet to the deck with a whump. Groaning, he looked around.

Hannah sat next to him, still wearing the Lady Peterson costume. Across the room, Amy looked around in surprise. "What the-"

Max propped himself up on his elbows. "Hannah pulled the holodeck within a holodeck trick. Let me guess – you've been waiting forever for me to show up?"

Amy frowned. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

Max pointed to Hannah. "Because I've been busy rescuing the wrong Lady Peterson."

Hannah smiled smugly. "Well, I think it's time to admit that you two aren't romantically involved. If you were, Max would have had a much different reaction to my massage."

Amy gave Max a sharp glance. "You thought I would give you a massage?"

Max sighed. "Yeah, believe it or not, I did. Of course, I thought you were trying to make up for programming a dragon that beat the stuffing out of me."

Amy was incensed. "By giving you a massage?"

Max pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten. "Yes. You were apparently massaging the huge bruises your dragon gave me. But when you started to depants me-"

Amy's jaw dropped. "I never!"

"No kidding. That's how I knew for certain it wasn't you." Max turned to Hannah. "I've had enough of this. Hannah, go home. Now."

Hannah blinked. "You're telling me to leave?"

"Yes. Directly, repeatedly, and at steadily increasing volume. I'm so ticked off at you right now that I don't care _what_ Mom says. Nothing she can do or say could be worse than this much grief."

Hannah rose to her feet. "So this vacation was a total waste?"

Max nodded. "I think so, yes."

Hannah grinned suddenly. "Oh, I don't know. I got to spend time with you, see you kiss another woman and thoroughly hate it, and give you a massage. Compared to our last time together, I had a lot of fun." She headed for the holodeck doors. "See you later, Maxie." She blew him a kiss, then sauntered out of sight.

Amy shook her head. "You're right, Max. She _is_ crazy."

Max nodded grimly. "This was the worst she's ever been, and I think she actually enjoyed it." He sighed. "Mom is so going to kill me over this."

Amy came over next to him. "C'mon. Let's get you patched up."


	7. Chapter 7

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Chapter 7**

Dear Mom and Dad,

First off, let me set the record straight. Hannah showed up and pulled her usual stunts. I put up with five days of her mischief, and then I let her have it. If you choose to believe her instead of me, that's your choice (_Mom!_), but I'm telling you I did everything I could to be a decent host. I even introduced her to one of my fellow engineers.

Dad, thank you again for annulling that marriage. I shudder to think what life married to that woman would be like.

Well, other than Hannah, the layover at Starbase 61 went quietly. Once she left for real (she slipped off the first transport I loaded her onto and popped up in my quarters again), I had time to finish a novel I'd been meaning to read.

We've been back on patrol for a couple weeks now, and life has pretty much settled into a routine. Brian has been grumbling about how boring it is around here. I've warned him to be careful what he wishes for. Things can get exciting around here rather quickly, and when it does, it rarely makes anyone in engineering happy.

I'm going to take him with me on a test run for a shuttle that we just repaired. Maybe that'll brighten his day.

Your son,

Max

----- -----

"Shuttle _Ramses_ to _Expeditious_. Ready to depart."

"You are cleared for launch, _Ramses_. We'll meet you back here in two hours."

"Roger, _Expeditious_. _Ramses_ out." Max cut the channel, then grinned at Brian. "Well, let's get moving."

Brian activated the shuttle controls, and the tiny craft lifted up from the deck and glided gently out the hangar bay doors. The engineers felt a slight jar as the shuttle penetrated the forcefield that contained the hangar's atmosphere. After that, the ride was completely smooth. "Thanks for letting me in on this test flight, sir. I've been going stir crazy on the _Expeditious_."

Max chuckled. "Please, call me Max. I'm only a rank above you and we're in an informal setting. And you're welcome. I thought the outing might break up your doldrums."

Brian looked out the viewport. "When we get involved in routine maintenance so much, sometimes I forget I'm on a starship. I need to see the stars every now and then."

Max nodded. "It _is_ quite a view, isn't it?" He checked his instruments and saw that the _Expeditious_ had already gone to warp, taking care of a short errand while he and Brian ran the _Ramses_ through her paces. "Well, we're all alone. Ready when you are."

Brian nodded. "I'm going to take us to warp one."

Max checked his instruments. "Warp one is a go. On your signal."

Brian tapped the controls, and the tiny shuttle leaped into warp. Max watched the starfield distort, wondering once again what Einstein would have thought about warp travel. It had proven several of his theories and made hash out of others.

Max studied his readouts. "All systems are functioning within specifications. Care to bump it to warp two?"

Brian adjusted the controls, and the shuttle slowly increased speed until warp two was reached. Max double-checked the warp nacelle outputs, measuring field dimensions against fleet standards. So far, the new engines were performing better than expected. Usually there were a few minor variations that needed adjusting before a reworked shuttle was ready for service.

Max finished reading the checklist for warp two, then nodded to Brian, who nudged it up to warp three.

That was when the excitement began.

A powerful vibration rocked the shuttle, jostling both men. They looked at each other with a 'did you feel that' look. Then they checked their instruments.

Max noticed a red light embedded in a nest of green lights on his display. He ran a quick lights check to make sure he wasn't just seeing a blown bulb. When the lights check came back good, he knew they had a problem. "Brian, ease her back to half impulse. The right nacelle is fluctuating."

Brian adjusted the warp controls, then frowned when the shuttle continued to sail on at a brisk warp two. "Max, she's not responding!"

_Odd_, thought Max. _Usually the problem is keeping it _at_ warp_. "Try rerouting the command signal through the back-up junction box."

Brian tapped in the command, but nothing happened. "Max, I think we've got a serious problem here."

Max looked at his instruments. "Maybe. Let's not get too frantic just yet. Dropping out of warp is usually a fairly easy thing to do. There are a lot of ways it can be done." He reached up and opened an access panel over his head. "For example, there are several critical isolinear chips up here that route power from the warp core to the emitters. Without these in place, the warp field will collapse." Gripping two of the chips, Max popped them out of their slots.

Both men waited for the starfield to return to normal. Nothing happened.

Max looked at Brian. "Okay, _now_ we get frantic."

-----

An hour later, Max and Brian were still trying to figure out why _Ramses_ was keeping a constant warp two. All attempts to slow down or even turn around had failed. The shuttle was, for all intents and purposes, a warp-speed meteor.

Max had tried everything he could think of to break the _Ramses_ out of warp. All power had been shut down, with the obvious exception of life support and interior lighting. The shuttle should have been a stationary box in space. Yet a simple peek out the viewport revealed that they were still very much at warp.

Max's feet stuck out from under the pilot's console. "How about now?"

Brian looked out the window, then shook his head. "Nope."

Max disconnected another junction box. "Now?"

Brian checked again. "Nope."

"_Now?!_"

"Nope."

Max wriggled free of the console and got to his feet. Giving Brian a suspicious glare, he looked out the window himself. "Drat."

Brian peered over his shoulder out the window. "What? What's wrong?"

Max pointed at the distorted starfield. "You were supposed to be pulling my leg. Obviously you weren't. Double drat."

Brian shrugged. "What now?"

Max sat down, then started working his way back under the console. "We reconnect everything and see if our sensors have a different tale to tell us."

The engineers began reassembling the shuttle's warp controls, each wondering just how long the _Expeditious_ would wait before coming after them.

-----

"Brian, what was our heading when we first started our test?" Max was frowning at the instruments. Among the myriad of things wrong, there was one thing that nagged at him.

Brian thought for a moment. "Oh one five. I scanned in that direction as far as the shuttle's sensors would reach to make sure we weren't going to plow through a star or something fun like that."

Max nodded thoughtfully. "Oh one five, eh? Well now we're traveling at oh two oh. That's a five degree shift. From the looks of it, we changed course when we felt that vibration. Wonder what caused that."

Brian paled. "Max, if we're traveling at oh two oh, then the _Expeditious_ won't be able to find us! They'll follow our oh one five course."

Max considered the possibility. "Maybe, but they're pretty sharp. I doubt they're going to just race off willy-nilly on the heading we posted. At warp two, we're hardly speeding out of their range." Max called up a star chart. "At the most, we're right here, still in range of the _Expeditious'_ long range sensors. They'll be expecting us in forty-five minutes. When they don't see us returning like happy little campers, they'll start with a long-range sensor sweep and they'll see us heading away at warp two. They'll jump to warp seven and catch us in a matter of minutes. Odds are they'll beam the entire shuttle into the hangar bay and we can start troubleshooting to find out what happened."

Brian sat down, looking far from reassured. "I still don't like it. What if local radiations mask us from the _Expeditious_? I mean, we've been traveling through a high neutrino field for quite some time now. Don't they interfere with sensors?"

Max's jaw dropped. "You bet they do! That's how cloaking devices work." Max ran several scans outside the shuttle. "Oh, I am such a moron. We're caught in a cloaked ship's warp field wake. No _wonder_ we can't slow down or maneuver. We're stuck to a cloaked ship like a piece of lint!"

Brian's brow furrowed. "A cloaked ship? Who could it be? And what are they doing here?"

Max was grim. "Whoever they are, they aren't likely to be too thrilled to see us tagging along. Soon as they drop their cloak they're going to spot us."

Brian looked out the viewport again. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

Max scratched his head as he thought. "Can't go to warp – their wake prevents us from forming our own warp field. Can't break free with maneuvering thrusters – the warp field would rip us apart. Hmmm . . ."

He looked up suddenly. "Nope. As it stands right now, we're going along for the ride."

Brian looked out the viewport at the starfield knowing that a starship flew hidden in front of them. "Yeah, but riding with whom?"

"Pirates. Klingons. Romulans. Other unpleasant people in need of illegal sneakiness. We're only a day away from the Romulan border, so the smart money is on them." He looked over at Brian and realized the young man was looking ill. Deciding to try to cheer him up, Max decided to stretch his imagination just a bit. "Hey! Maybe it's a Federation ship with a cloaking device. Perhaps it's Section Thirty-One out doing something secret-squirrellish."

Brian swallowed, even paler. "Starfleet black ops. I've heard about those guys." He sat back in his seat, his hands twiddling nervously in his lap. "I hope it's just Klingons."

Max sighed. _So much for putting Brian at ease._

-----

Four hours later, _Ramses_' sensors began beeping, waking Max and Brian in their chairs. They quickly looked at their instruments, and both men swore. The ship was decloaking at long last.

"Romulan," Brian said. "We're dead."

Max had to agree. The ship was definitely a small Romulan scout ship, perhaps twice the size of their shuttle. "Okay, plan B. Get to the transporter." Max programmed hasty coordinates, then the two engineers grabbed a tool box and the biggest hydrospanners on board and ran for the back of the shuttle. Even as Ramses' tactical computer started warning them of a phaser lock, Max and Brian beamed to the only place in range of their transporters where the Romulan weapons couldn't target them.

Max knew that the cloaking device drew an immense amount of power, and he doubted the ship would operate with shields raised unless it was ready for combat. Considering how long the shuttle had been dragged by the ship's warp field, Max counted on them not being aware of their accidental hitchhikers. Theoretically, the scout ship's shields would be down at least for a few seconds before the Romulans discovered their tagalongs and raised their shields to prevent Max and Brian from doing exactly what they did.

They beamed directly to the Romulan cockpit.

As soon as the transporter tingle faded, Max swung his hydrospanner at the nearest Romulan he saw. The heavy wrench smacked into the shoulder of the black-clad Romulan pilot, knocking her right out of the seat. Her disruptor clattered across the deck, and Brian leapt on it. Whipping it around, he aimed at the Romulan. "Don't move!"

The Romulan's eyes widened. "How did you find us?" She tried to stand, but when she put weight on her arm she cried out in pain and sat back down.

Max looked around, but the bridge was empty. "Where's the rest of your crew?"

The Romulan scowled up at him. "I am alone, Federation _gretch_."

Max looked around the tiny bridge. "I don't think so." He pointed to the pair of command seats. "Two chairs. Two people." He crept to the back of the cabin and opened the door leading aft into the main compartment.

Before he could enter the narrow room, the Romulan woman yelled, "N'Var! Intruders!"

Max growled as he sprinted into the room, hoping to catch the second Romulan off-guard. He needn't have worried. The second Romulan was an ancient fellow in a plain blue robe asleep on a small couch. He muttered something about taking the trash out in the morning, then rolled over and began snoring. Max quickly checked the storage cabinets in the room and found a second disruptor. Taking a second to familiarize himself with the weapon, he gently nudged the old man. "Hey buddy. Wake up."

"Leave me be, D'Marren. I told you I'd get it in the morning."

Max sighed, then nudged the old man again. "C'mon, N'Var. Time to get up."

The Romulan's eyes fluttered open, and he focused on Max slowly. "You're not D'Marren."

Max held his hands up apologetically. "I know." He gestured toward the cockpit with the disruptor.

N'Var eased up off the couch, moving as only a man well past a hundred can move. Max watched as the venerable Romulan shuffled ahead of him into the cockpit, which was now getting quite crowded. When Max stepped in, there was little room for anyone to move around. The old Romulan hobbled over next to the woman. "S'Rel, what is going on? Who are these men?"

She glared at Max. "Starfleet agents sent to intercept us, Grandfather."

"_Grandfather?_" Max blinked. If this was a crack Romulan infiltration team, then the Romulan Empire had come upon hard times. "Who _are_ you guys?"

The old man drew himself to his full five foot two height. "I am Senator N'Var, advisor to the Proconsul."

"Grandfather!" S'Rel glared at N'Var.

Max wasn't sure he'd heard right. N'Var was S'Rel's _grandfather_?

N'Var ignored S'Rel. "I demand to be taken to the President of the United Federation of Planets. I am here to negotiate your surrender."

Max blinked. "'Our surrender'?"

N'Var thought for a moment. "Oh, I'm sorry. I meant _our_ surrender."

"_Grandfather!!_" S'Rel struggled to her feet, wincing and clutching her shoulder.

N'Var looked confused. "Well I know I'm supposed to be negotiating _somebody's_ surrender." He rubbed his jaw, lost in thought.

Max pointed to the aft compartment where he'd found N'Var. "Let's all head back here and sort this out." He bowed slightly to N'Var. "Senator?"

N'Var shuffled past, followed by S'Rel. Brian followed them both, the disruptor held in a shaking fist. He leaned close to Max. "What do we do?"

Max shrugged. "Heck if I know. I've never captured a rogue Romulan senator and his granddaughter before. Let's just see what we can figure out."

Brian nodded, looking none too reassured, and stepped into the aft compartment. Max took a moment to make sure the ship was continuing along its trajectory, then turned and headed aft to join the other three.

N'Var and S'Rel sat on the couch, with Brian standing on the far side of the room, the disruptor still aimed at them. Max stood there watching the unlikely pair he'd captured. Something was definitely not as it appeared. Waving the disruptor, he gestured to S'Rel. "Could you come back to the cockpit with me?"

S'Rel groaned as she eased herself to her feet. "I wish you would make up your mind."

Max sighed. "Sorry, but I need to speak to you alone."

S'Rel gave him an odd look, then headed back to the cockpit. Max followed her, speaking back to Brian. "Keep an eye on Senator N'Var. We'll be back in a minute."

Max kept the disruptor trained on S'Rel as she turned to face him. "What do you want, Federation?"

Max thought for a moment. "Look. I don't know who either of you are, but I know a Romulan scout ship in Federation space when I see one. What's going on?"

S'Rel turned and stared out the forward viewport. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Starfleet agent."

"Max"

S'Rel looked back at him, confused. "What?"

"Max. My name is Max." Max shrugged. "I know your name, or at least the name N'Var calls you. I figure it's only fair."

S'Rel's expression hardened. "So be it, _Max_." She spat his name like a bitter herb. "You won't believe me, so I won't bother telling you." Her voice broke, and Max swore he saw a tear in the corner of her eye as she turned away from him.

_What in blazes was going on?_

Max sighed. "S'Rel, I can't promise I'll believe you, but tell me what's going on here. You're alone in Federation space with an old man who, if he is who he says he is, would rate a much bigger ship." He sat down in the pilot's chair. "Have a seat. I need to sort out this whole mess."

S'Rel sat down, sniffling quietly. Max saw a tear rolling down her cheek. "Very well. N'Var _is_ my grandfather. And he was once a senator, but now he's retired. I'm sure you noticed that he's not completely coherent anymore. He suffers from Drazarian Degenerative Syndrome. It's a rare ailment that interferes with the synaptic nerves in the frontal lobes of the Romulan brain. The disease is untreatable and terminal."

Max nodded slowly. "I'm sorry."

S'Rel continued, "I discovered a man who claims he can treat Drazarian Degenerative Syndrome. He oversees a clinic on Nolamia IV. I appealed to the Senate for permission to take N'Var there, but they would not hear of it. They said that seeking help from the Federation was dishonorable." She choked back a sob. "He served on the Senate for forty years, and they won't even lift a finger to save him."

Max chewed on that for a moment. He knew very well that S'Rel could be lying through her teeth, but what she was saying certainly fit with what he'd seen so far. "Okay, suppose this is the truth. What are you and N'Var doing here?"

S'Rel sniffled again. "I snuck my grandfather out of the hospital and stole this ship. We were going to slip through Federation space unnoticed, seek treatment at Nolamia IV, then return to Romulus. Everything was going according to plan until I shut off the cloaking device to scan the area. That's when your assault team captured us."

Max frowned. "Quite a plan." He had been fiddling with the ship's navigational computer and had confirmed that Nolamia IV was indeed their destination. "Can you prove any of this?"

S'Rel pulled a datachip out of a pocket on her sleeve. "Here. This is Grandfather's medical record. That's the only proof I can offer you."

Max slipped the datachip into the scout's computer. While the language was Romulan, the many pictures of N'Var and the diagrams of his brain were all the proof that Max needed to confirm these were indeed medical records. "I believe you, S'rel."

She looked up at him, a mixture of suspicion and hope battling for control of her slender features. "You do?"

Max nodded. "I do. Now all I have to do is figure out what to do about it." Max pondered his options. "I don't think I quite trust you enough to hand over the disruptor, but maybe we can work something out."

He thought for a moment. "Nolamia IV is still five hours away at warp two. Let's recloak and continue there. Once we arrive, we'll make the next decision about what to do."

S'Rel blinked away tears. "Yes. Thank you, Starfl - Max. Thank you for letting me save my grandfather."

Max watched carefully as she reactivated the cloaking device and checked the scout's systems for irregularities.

-----

Max, N'Var, and S'Rel materialized on the surface of Nolamia IV, an agricultural world in the Garon expanse. The planet held little strategic value, and Max only knew about it from a supply drop-off the _Expeditious_ had made a month ago. One of the few noteworthy features of Nolamia was the extraordinary mental health clinic run by the famous Arconian neurosurgeon Sajis Furlo. The seven-foot humanoid had a reputation for successfully treating more acute cases of mental illness than any other doctor in the Federation, and had soon been pestered by reporters and photographers wherever he went. Rejecting the media, he built a clinic on an out-of-the-way planet where his research could continue uninterrupted.

Max stared at the clinic, surprised to find it so small. "Are you sure we're at the right place?"

S'Rel nodded, though she seemed unsure. "Yes. I was told it would be . . . humble."

N'Var smiled. "And the Federation President is in there?"

Max smiled. "Yes, Senator. Wait here while your granddaughter and I announce you." Max hooked S'Rel's arm and led him toward the building.

S'Rel looked back nervously. "Wait! We can't leave him alone out here."

Max looked around at the quiet hillsides and gently swaying crops. "He'll be fine. I just want to make sure we don't have any . . . excitement before we can explain why we're here. Now who are you again?"

S'Rel sighed. "I'm T'plek, aide to N'Var, the subdirector of interstellar tariffs. We're here to speak to Doctor Furlo about the possibility of reducing the import dues he's required to pay on his supplies." She looked up at him with a frown. "But why are we doing this? Why not simply tell him the truth?"

"Because the truth won't get you anywhere near Doctor Furlo." Max remembered what he'd read in the Ramses' databanks about the infamous physician. "He fled the public scene years ago in part because people like you kept bringing him people like your grandfather all the time. When we were dropping off supplies last month, Dr. Slith tried to arrange an interview, but Furlo's staff wouldn't give him the time of day. Maybe since he's been out here for a few years, he's mellowed. I hope so, because once he finds out who we really are, he's going to throw us out if he isn't extremely mellow. And his staff is anything but mellow."

S'Rel nodded weakly. "Your customs are strange, Max."

Max snorted. "You got that straight."

The pair entered the building and were immediately greeted by a pair of Vorellians. The muscle-bound centaurs loomed a meter over the unlikely pair. "Do you have an appointment?" Their demeanor gave Max the strong impression that they were already certain he didn't.

"No, we don't." Max glared up at them in his most officious manner. "Federation tariff officials don't bother with appointments. When we arrive, most people have the common sense to clear their calendars."

The Vorellians looked at each other uncertainly. "Could you provide identification?"

Max scowled. "'Could you provide identification?'", he mimicked in an uncharitably nasal tone. He rolled his eyes and mustered up his best look of contempt. "Maybe if we represented a lowly field agent. But we're here on behalf of Vulcan subdirector N'Var, the man who oversees the tariffs for this entire sector. It shocks me that you don't recognize his attaché, T'plek." S'Rel jumped a bit, then hardened her expression. Max continued, "He's outside, and he's not keen on being kept waiting. So if you wish to waste his time with idiotic checks, feel free to do so. And when the additional tariffs cost this clinic tens of thousands of credits over the course of the next year, you can explain to Doctor Furlo how much your security is worth to him." He glared at them for a moment, allowing his threat to sink in. "Or you could simply tell him that Subdirector N'Vek is here to see him."

The Vorellians looked at each other again, neither certain of just what to do. Finally one of them spoke. "Uh, if you'll have a seat in the lobby, I'll let Doctor Furlo know you're here to see him."

Max nodded, displaying his tightest, most bureaucratic smile. "We'll wait right here. Twenty . . . nineteen . . . eighteen . . . seventeen . . ."

The Vorellian galloped off.

Max smiled at S'Rel. "Would you please let the Subdirector know that the doctor is ready to see him."

S'Rel nodded, then headed back out to fetch her grandfather. Max grinned at the remaining Vorellian, who looked none too happy.

Max tried to remember the last time he'd seen a creature that big that unhappy with him without bars between them. He failed.

-----

"So let me see if I have all the facts straight. You are _not_ the attaché for the Subdirector of Interstellar Tariffs for this sector. You are instead the daughter of a retired Romulan senator suffering from an advanced case of DDS." Doctor Furlo paced back and forth in his small office, waving his arms around to punctuate his statements, causing Max and S'Rel to duck every few seconds. "You stole a ship and headed here to seek treatment for his condition when you accidentally intercepted this man," he stabbed a long orange finger at Max, "who was testing a shuttle and got caught in your warp field. You all came here to my clinic and bullied and lied your way into an appointment with me. Am I correct in my assessment of the situation?"

Max and S'Rel nodded. Now that they sat in front of the doctor, there was no need for further deception. Either he was going to help them, or his staff would take great pleasure in enthusiastically ejecting them from the premises. Right now, Max's money was on the ejection.

Furlo was silent for several seconds. "I do not think I have ever been witness to a more poorly-executed operation in my entire life, and I am over four hundred years old." Shaking his head, he sat down behind his desk. "I refuse to be a part of it. You have wasted your time and more importantly, you have wasted mine. Leave now, or I'll have my staff throw you physically out the door."

Max groaned silently. This was going downhill fast.

"No!" S'Rel stood up. "My grandfather is dying out there in your waiting room, and I will not leave until you have cured him."

Furlo stared at the angry Romulan. "I have two Vorellians who say you will. And know this – I am an oddity among my race in that I bother to heal anyone. We are warriors by birth. My receptionists were both trained by me personally, and they have yet to defeat me in any of our sparring matches. You do _not_ want to challenge me."

Max had an idea. He hopped to his feet and grabbed S'Rel by the arm. "Come one. Let's go. I told you he couldn't cure your grandfather."

Furlo bristled. "I never said I _couldn't_. I said I _wouldn't_."

Max rolled his eyes. "Of course. The retreat sound of those unwilling to admit defeat." His voice took on a mocking falsetto. "I could have saved him if I'd wanted to." Max's voice dropped back to normal. "Here's a doctor who specializes in healing people just like N'Var. Heck – he's built a massive reputation on it. But first time someone actually drops in to see if he can really do it, and the excuses start to fly." He shot Furlo a look of contempt and started dragging S'Rel to the door. "Let's go get N'Var. It's a long trip back to Romulus."

Furlo held up a hand. "You came here directly from Romulus?"

S'Rel nodded angrily. "I risked everything based on your reputation."

Furlo sat back, stunned. "My reputation extends to the heart of the Romulan Empire?"

S'Rel nodded again. "Yes, though I see now that it's a sham. A true healer wouldn't turn away the sick. Especially one who had traveled so far."

Max managed to suppress his grin. The hook was baited, but not quite taken. "It's a shame, really. Once word of this gets out, who knows what'll happen to this clinic. And with the Federation Council Budget Subcommittee meeting next month."

Furlo grimaced. "Oh, shut up, whelp. I don't receive any funding from the Federation. My research is paid for from my own accounts. Your threat is as empty as your head."

His voice lowered. "But Romulus . . ." He looked up at S'Rel. "You are telling me the truth, aren't you? My name is known on the homeworld of the Romulan Empire?"

S'Rel nodded. "Your reputation is held in high esteem. Had it been the Proconsul who had fallen ill with DDS, I believe they would have sought your assistance. But Romulan pride kept them from seeking it for a less important man." Her bitterness crept into her voice. "But I guess that's all meaningless now."

Furlo sat, mulling over everything he'd just heard. S'Rel started to leave, but Max's hand on her arm stopped her. Together they waited, hardly daring to breathe.

Suddenly, the doctor rose to his feet. "I'll do it. I'll treat your grandfather."

-----

Max grinned as he said goodbye to S'Rel. Her face lit up the monitor in the _Ramses_, and Max could just see her if he looked out the viewport at the Romulan scout ship. "So once your father is cured, you plan to just slip back across the border?"

S'Rel shrugged. "I honestly hadn't thought that far ahead when I started this. Maybe Grandfather will have some ideas once he's back to his normal level of clarity. He really is a very wise man. Thank you for helping us. We would never have succeeded without you." Her expression shifted to one of concern. "And what of you? What will you tell your commanding officer?"

Max smiled. "I've already spoken with him. They'll be here within the hour."

S'Rel's eyes bulged. "What?! A Federation warship is coming here?" Her fingers flew across the controls of the tiny scout as she prepared to activate the cloaking device.

Max laughed. "Hold on, S'Rel! It's okay! They're offering to grant you and your grandfather a temporary visa. You can stay here as long as necessary, then return to Romulan space without fear of being harassed by a Federation cruiser. If you think it would help, the Federation's diplomatic corps has offered to make liaison with your government to secure a more friendly reception for you when you get home."

S'Rel frowned. "Your Federation would do that for an old senator and his granddaughter?"

Max nodded. "Captain Armus told me that this isn't the first time such an arrangement has been made between our two governments. I'd say it's looking pretty good for you both."

S'Rel smiled. "Max, I don't know how to thank you for all you've done."

Max thought for a moment. "Spread the word on Romulus that the Federation isn't so bad, I guess. If our two governments could get along better, there'd be no need for all the ruckus we had today."

S'Rel nodded. You are right about that. Take care, Max." S'Rel cut the channel, and Max sat there alone with his thoughts.

Until Brian interrupted them. "S'Rel and Maxwell sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G . . ."

Max glared at him. "Shut up, or I'm taking you with me when I test out the impulse engine upgrade on the _Solomon_."

Brian shut up.


	8. Chapter 8

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Chapter 8**

Dear Mom and Dad,

I can tell from your last letter that you've already heard about my encounter with the Romulans. All I can say about that is that it was nowhere as bad as you may have heard. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and we ended up helping out a couple of good people. Sure, they're both Romulans, but that doesn't make them any less human, does it?

Hmmmmm . . . okay, poor choice of words. But you know what I mean.

Captain Armus talked to me privately about the incident and assured me that I had likely seen my last Romulan face to face if he had anything to say on the matter. Seems like a pity. If' they're all like S'Rel and N'Var, then there's surely more we can do to get along with them. But I suppose I can't judge an entire race by the actions of two people, can I? Usually I hear that in a more positive context, but I guess the flip side is true as well.

Anyway, from what S'Rel told me yesterday, her grandfather is making a full recovery. Doctor Furlo doesn't have much of a bedside manner, but he's sure good at healing sick people.

Kind of reminds me of our own chief medical officer. Commander Slith is the Gorn you've been hearing about – the one participating in the officer exchange program. Boy do I feel sorry for the Federation doctor that ended up with the Gorn Confederacy. Those lizards take the term cold-blooded to a new level, but Slith does seem to know his way around the humanoid body. Still, I've heard horror stories about overnight stays in our sickbay. With luck, I'll never need his services.

Well, I'm off to the drama rehearsal. We're performing 'The Pirates of Penzance' next week on the hangar bay. _Arrrrrrrr!_ Should be fun. I'm working with the set construction crew. We've been building a big pirate ship facade as a prop for the performance. It'll bring down the house.

Your son,

Max

----- -----

"Ow! Go easy on that leg! It's still attached!" Max winced as several actors tried to lift the toppled pirate ship off of him. The massive stage prop had popped off its tracks and crashed into the middle of the partially constructed stage. Max had managed to shove two people out from under it, but failed to clear it himself. Now he fought to keep from saying things not normally reserved for mixed company.

Jason and Amy arrived with a gravity crane. After quickly rigging the crane and fastening it to the prow of the pirate ship, they lifted it high enough for two actors to pull Max clear.

"Owowowowowow!" Max immediately ignored the advice of everyone present and looked at his leg. "Hey! Legs don't bend there. Or _there_! Nuts!" Max's eyes rolled up into his head and he passed out.

-----

When he came to, he saw ceiling lights sliding by. Looking around, he saw several medical technicians surrounding him. After a second, he realized he was on an anti-grav stretcher being shoved along the corridor. "Wha-?"

One med-tech looked down at him. "Settle down, Lieutenant. You've got a few nasty breaks in your right leg and possibly some internal injuries."

Max smiled. "Funny. Doesn't hurt a bit."

The corpsman frowned. "With 200 cc's of Bandrazine, I should hope not. That I'm understanding what you're saying is a minor miracle."

Max nodded groggily. "Yeah. That would explain your extra eyes."

The corpsman's frown deepened. "No, I'm Jermellian. I actually _have_ four eyes."

Max suddenly felt a sharp stab of pain. "Ow! Now my leg hurts."

The Jermellion looked at Max's chart. "My mistake. You never received the Bandrazine. That's just shock. But we're almost there, so I'll let Commander Slith make medication calls from here on out."

"Commander . . . _Slith?_" Max knew he should be alarmed by the name, but couldn't quite place it. "Do I know him?"

The Jermellion grinned. "If you don't, you soon will. He's the big green one with the rows of sharp teeth. Whatever you do, don't make fun of his speech. He's worked hard to speak Federation standard, and he refuses to use a universal translator, so you're going to hear a Gorn wrapping his considerable chops around your language."

Max nodded. "Don't poke fun at the Gorn. Got it."

The stretcher slid into sickbay, and the corpsman handed Max off to a pair of lab techs who immediately started scanning his leg and torso with medical tricorders.

"Fractured tibia and dual fractures in the femur."

"Minor internal bleeding. Nothing life threatening."

"Several ruptured capillaries in the calf and ankle."

"Severed Achilles tendon."

Max tried to look down, but one of the techs pushed his head back down on the bench. "No peeking."

Max gritted his teeth. "Could you roll me over to the guy with the painkillers? This is _really_ starting to hurt."

"Perhapssss you sssshould leave the medicassssion judgementssss to me." A massive green reptilian head loomed over him. Iridescent eyes stared down at him. "Lieutenant Maxsssswell Davisssss, correct?"

"Yes, sir." Max had seen Slith from a distance before, but never up close. Up close, the Gorn was a terrible sight to behold.

Slith examined the tricorder readings from the two technicians. "Yesssss. You've made quite a messsss of your leg, Lieutenant. Quite a messsss indeed."

Max nodded. "Yes, sir."

Slith stomped over to stand next to Max's injured leg. "Back home, if sssssomeone had a break thisssss bad, we would cook and eat him."

Max's eyes bulged. "Cook . . . ?"

One of the technicians leaned into Max's line of sight. "He's kidding. Gorn don't eat sentient races."

Slith chuckled, a huffing, hissing affair that sounded more frightening than the angry roars of most animals Max knew. "That'sssss true, but we're ssssstill desssssiding whether humansssss are sssssentient or not. The random tassssste tessssst will go a long way toward resssssolving thisssss myssssstery."

Max started to reply, but instead let out a yelp as Slith prodded his leg. "_Yeow_!"

Slith nodded. "Good. The nervesssss are ssssstill attached."

Max groaned. "Well, they _were_ still attached."

Slith dragged a talon across his jaw. "Hold ssssstill. We need to ssssset thessssse breaksssss. Now you might feel a little presssssure."

Max tried to look down at his leg. "What? Wait! I – _arrgh!_" Slith had grabbed his leg by the ankle and given it a sharp tug to realign it. Max felt tears rolling down his cheeks and into his ears. "Oh, _man_ that hurt!"

Slith clicked his talons thoughtfully as he ran a tricorder over the leg again. "Exsssssellent. We ressssset three breaksssss at onssssse. Now we can let the sssssubdermal regenerator do itsssss work while we exssssamine your other injuriesssss."

"C-could I please have something for the pain?" Max fought back more tears as the throbbing in his leg began to subside.

Slith shook his head slowly. "Not quite yet, Lieutenant. I ssssstill have a few more tessssstsssss to run before I consssssider sssssedating you, and your leg injuriesssss ssssshould sssssoon feel lessssss painful."

Max forced himself to relax. "If you say so."

Slith ran a tricorder over his abdomen and hissed in displeasure. "Enssssign Knight, there are ssssseveral capillary ruptures in the lower right abdomen. Sssssomeone ssssshould have been treating thisssss while I wasssss consssssentrating on hisssss leg."

Ensign Knight looked at the tricorder. "Those are fresh ruptures, Commander. They weren't there when he arrived."

Slith studied the tricorder more closely. "You are correct. Thessssse were causssssed by the sssssetting of the leg. Look. There are numerousssss bone chipsssss from the hip." Slith looked up at Knight. "Prep Lieutenant Davisssss for sssssurgery. Thisssss isssss beyond the capabilitiesssss of the sssssubdermal regenerator."

Max found himself being wheeled into an operating room. Within seconds, his clothing was cut away and his hip cleaned and prepped for surgery. When Slith entered, Max fought to keep from laughing. The mask the reptile wore was the largest in stock, yet it looked almost dainty when stretched across the Gorn's snout.

The laugh died in Max's throat. Another medical technician was busy cleaning Slith's extended talons. Max looked over at the nearest technician. "Why are they cleaning his talons?"

The med tech smiled at him from behind her mask. "Oh, you're a first-timer, aren't you? Commander Slith operates with his talons. They're as sharp as scalpels and far easier for him to manipulate. He's amazing to watch when he works. Would you like a mirror so you can see?"

Max tried to get off the bench, but the med techs restrained him. "Don't worry! You'll have local anesthesia. You won't feel a thing."

Max swallowed. "Promise?"

The med tech smiled again. "Promise."

-----

Max lay in the recovery ward, thinking about the surgery. His curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he'd requested the mirror. He had to admit, Slith looked ponderous, but his surgical skills rivaled Commander Jones' engineering skills. In short order, Slith had made a small incision, removed nine bone chips, and grafted a polymer resin to the remainder of the hip, in essence making it stronger than before. Then he repaired the capillary damage and sealed the incision. Max found the whole affair very educational and only slightly nauseating.

The local anesthesia was completely effective. Max didn't feel a thing. Once or twice he wondered if they were operating on someone else.

The curtain around his bed slid back, and Slith stepped next to Max's bed. "How do you feel, Lieutenant?"

Max nodded, feeling a little more relaxed around the Gorn. "Pretty good, actually."

"Exssssellent, becaussssse it'sssss time for you to leave our happy little corner of the sssship." Slith handed him a padd loaded with post-op instructions. "Return to your quartersssss. I want you off thisssss leg for at leassssst ssssseventy two hoursssss. Ensssssign Knight will isssssue you a wheelchair for the ressssst of the week. Ussssse it, or I'll have you brought back here for more tessssstsssss."

Max smiled weakly. "Taste tests?"

Slith laughed. "Ah, you remember. I didn't know if you were coherent enough to catch that. No, I think Ssssstarfleet Command would protessssst any tassssste tesssssting on one of their ssssstarssssshipssssss." His toothy smile faded and he leaned close. "No, if you ignore my ordersssss, I'll dream up tessssstsssss that will make you wisssssh you were on the menu inssssstead."

Max nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir. Wheelchair it is."


	9. Chapter 9

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Chapter 9**

Dear Mom and Dad,

Remember when you wished me luck in your last letter by saying 'break a leg'? You got your wish! Our pirate ship fell over on top of me – ouch! Busted up my leg pretty badly. I've been pretty sore all week, and this wheelchair is a pain, but tomorrow after Commander Slith clears me for full duty, it's a thing of the past.

You know, I always kind of avoided Slith. Let's face it – a two-meter tall reptile with a head like a T-Rex is not something that you naturally approach for a hug. And there _is_ some truth to the rumors about his bedside manner. But overall, he's a good doctor, and I'd go to him again.

Yes, Mom. I will do everything in my power to avoid needing his skills. I missed out on the rest of the set construction, but I got a front-row seat for the performance on opening night. Everyone was great. And you haven't seen funny until you've seen our Vulcan XO singing the Major General song. I don't know if he even realized how funny he was, but he got a standing ovation (I was sitting in front of Commander Slith, so I refrained).

Next week it's back to work, and I'm looking forward to it. We've got some maintenance to perform on the deflector grid. Nothing spectacular, and no pirate ships to dodge.

Have I mentioned how much I enjoy starship life?

Your son,

Max

----- -----

Max finished inspecting the deflector screen power coils, checked his tools, and started back along the long Jeffries tube toward the engineering node and the turbolift. It had been a two-hour analysis of the system's output, but the results had been worth it. Running the deflectors through their paces, he'd been pleased to see that the shields were operating at peak efficiency. They weren't going to need to accelerate the next scheduled overhaul of the system after all.

Just then, his commbadge chirped. "Jones to Davis. How's it going?"

"Looks great, Commander. Everything checks out well above specs." Max rounded a bend in the tube and continued on along a twenty-meter long section. "Unless you want to run another diagnostic, we're basically done."

"I don't think that'll be necessary. Come on back and we'll do a quick debrief with bravo shift before calling it a day. Jones out."

Max reached the end of the tube and stopped short. There was a spider-web across the entrance. Two things immediately grabbed his attention. One - the strands were quite a bit thicker than any spiderwebs he'd ever seen before. And two - they hadn't been there when he'd come through on his way to the deflector array.

"Davis to Commander Jones. I've got a problem here. There's a huge spiderweb strung across the entrance to Jeffries tube 1543J. I can't get out."

"Jones here. A spiderweb? Just brush through it, lieutenant." The commander's tone had equal parts amusement and annoyance.

"I can't do that, sir. It's way bigger than a normal spiderweb. Something big is loose in the Jeffries tubes up here." Max remembered some of the conversations he'd overheard from the security officers in Ten-Forward. "Wasn't there some form of giant spider down on the surface of the planet we just received parts from? Could one of those have been beamed up with the cargo accidentally?"

There was a brief pause. "Could be, Davis. Seems I recall Commander Torah talking about an arachnid species indigenous to Omicron Theta III. Big things - adults had over a two-meter legspan. But don't worry - they're curious, but harmless. They only eat fruit, so unless you smell like a strawberry, you'll be okay. I'll send a security detachment up there to meet you anyway. If we've got a stowaway, we need to send it packing."

Max sighed. "Okay, I'll wait here. But please hurry - spiders creep me out, and that's little ones. Davis out."

Max looked around nervously. Something about Commander Jones' description of the Omicron Theta arachnids didn't seem quite right. Why would a spider that only ate fruit bother to spin webs? Was it a purely defensive measure, intended to keep interlopers from violating the spider's territory? Or was it in fact a hunting species after all? And were engineers on the menu?

Max dug a lasertorch from his tool pouch and started cutting one of the strands. He managed to work through the first strand, but then brushed the torch up against another strand, snaring it. He yanked on the torch for several moments, carefully avoiding skin contact with the web, but finally gave up. Instead, he pulled out several test leads and started systematically testing the strands. As he suspected, some were sticky while others were not. Using a pair of wirecutters, he started cutting the non-adhesive strands surrounding the torch. When it hung by a single strand, he re-ignited it and maneuvered it to burn through the final strand. With a grin, he used the torch to slice through the rest of the web, clearing a way for his departure.

His smile disappeared when he tried to return the torch to his tool pouch. The loose ends of the sticky strand had wrapped themselves around his fist, effectively sealing it to the torch. He shook it vigorously without success, but wisely refrained from attempting to pry his right hand loose with his left. Irritated, he continued to burn up the remaining pieces of the web to keep anyone else from becoming snagged.

It was the strangest thing. Normally when Max's hair stood up on his neck, he could attribute it to a specific event. A sound, or a motion detected in the corner of his eye. But this time, all he could determine was the very strong feeling that he was no longer alone. Then he noticed the smell. Something in dire need of a good cleaning was in his immediate vicinity.

Turning slowly, he spotted a massive gray spider not three meters away. It was a slender, shiny creature, not like the hairy tarantulas he loathed back on Earth. Each leg was almost a meter long and as thick as his wrist. The abdomen was roughly the size of a basketball, and the head half that. It had eight white eyes in a rectangular pattern, and while they had no pupils, Max was fairly certain that all of them were focused on him.

He brought the lasertorch around slowly. The tool had a range of only a few centimeters, but it was the best thing he could think of, and since it was stuck to his hand anyway, it wasn't as though he was neglecting a more useful weapon. The spider watched this silently.

Max tapped his commbadge and whispered in a tone he hoped wouldn't agitate the giant arachnid. "Davis to security. Intruder alert, deck three. Jeffries tube 1543J to be exact."

"Security here. What are you talking about?" The security officer's voice barked out at him, causing him to wince. The spider drew back a bit, then relaxed again.

"I'm staring at a huge spider, probably one of those things you guys played with down on Omicron Theta III. I'd really like someone to beam it or me out of here."

"Sorry, Davis. Transporters are down for a diagnostic right now. Should be up in twenty minutes. We've got people on their way up to you anyway. I'll tell them to hurry. Security out."

Max sighed. Watching the spider, he slowly reached one hand into his pouch for his tricorder. Maybe he could scan the creature and see if an antidote would be needed should things go further awry than they already had.

When the tricorder began its scan, the spider leapt into motion. One long leg shot out, dragging a web strand from the abdomen spinnarettes and sticking it to the tricorder's case. With a jerk, the tricorder whipped out of Max's hands and into the grasp of the spider.

Max let out a yell and tumbled backward out of the tube. When he jumped to his feet, he dashed to the turbolift doors and slapped the controls summoning the lift. While he waited for the doors to open, he looked back into the Jeffries tube, only to see a vacant tunnel. The spider was gone.

The turbolift doors opened, and three armored security officers charged out, phasers clenched in padded fists. One of them grabbed Max and hurled him into the turbolift while the other two fanned out, scanning the engineering node for life forms. After scans came up negative, they relaxed visibly. The one that had shoved Max into the lift raised his visor and smiled. "Looks like we missed your little beasty. Are you all right?"

Max shook with a mix of relief, anger and adrenaline. "No, I'm _not_ all right! I've just come nose-to-whatever with a spider big enough to eat my head. It stole my tricorder. And," Max shook his right fist in the security officer's face, "I'm stuck to this blasted lasertorch!"

The security officer tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. "I meant are you injured?"

Max took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. "Only my pride, I guess."

The security officer nodded. "Well, take your wounded pride down to sick bay. I imagine Commander Slith has something to dissolve that webbing."

Max grimaced at the thought of the Gorn's bedside manner. "I might head down to the xenobiology lab instead."

-----

Twenty minutes later, Max stepped out of the xeno lab, wiggling his freshly-liberated fingers. A movement caught the corner of his eye, and he tensed before realizing that it was just a fellow crewman approaching. He stood still for several seconds, willing his heart back down into his chest, then sighed. Until that spider was captured and off the ship, he knew he was going to be a nervous wreck. Every time he walked past an air vent, he quickened his pace. Then he heard a sound from one of the vents and froze. Was it the spider? Should he check it out? He made a quick command decision.

Max arrived in Engineering at a dead run. He was fairly certain the scratching sound he'd heard in one of the vents was a loose filter, but he wasn't taking any chances.

Ensign Howard looked up at him with a bemused expression as he skidded to a halt in front of her. "Where's the fire, lieutenant?"

"There's a huge spider loose in the ventilation shaft. The thing has to be two meters across!" Max leaned against the warp core console, catching his breath. "I came eyeball to eyeball with it while working on the main deflectors."

Howard whistled, her face etched with concern. "Are you all right?"

Max nodded. "It didn't touch me. Just took my tricorder."

Howard paled, taking an involuntary step back. "Took your tricorder?"

Max nodded. "Yeah. It snatched the tricorder right out of my hands. I wasn't about to try and fetch it. I only hope it gets indigestion trying to eat it!"

Howard glanced nervously toward the back of Engineering. "Yeah. I suppose so." She took another step backward, then abruptly turned and started walking toward the doors. "I-I'll be inspecting the plasma injectors on the warp nacelle."

Max frowned as the doors slid shut behind Howard. What was wrong with her?

He turned, and came face to face with The Lieutenant. The older man was breathing heavily, and a drop of spit was creeping down from the corner of his mouth. "'Right out of your hands'?"

Max swallowed, suddenly understanding Howard's retreat. "Lieutenant, it was me or the tricorder! If I'd tried to recover it, I would've been spider kibble, and the tricorder would be gone anyway!"

The Lieutenant turned a dark red. "At least then you would have died with honor!" He snatched Max off his feet by the front of his uniform and shook him like a rag-doll. His voice worked up to a fevered pitch. "Gosh-darn it, Davis! You never leave a man behind!!"

Dropping Max to the deck, The Lieutenant whirled, ran back to the tool room and plunged inside. Max heard a loud crash, followed by several colorful metaphors. Then The Lieutenant returned, armed with a rivet gun and a huge sledgehammer. "We're going back for it! Never Forget!!"

Max stared up at the crazed Tool Room Officer. "But Lieutenant, this is a security matter! Let them handle it!"

The Lieutenant shook his head. "_No!_ This time it's personal!" Barreling past Max, The Lieutenant headed out, bent on his search and rescue mission.

Max stared at the door for several minutes in stunned silence, trying to count the old movie clichés The Lieutenant had just spouted. Giving up, he tapped his commbadge. "Davis to Security. Lieutenant . . ." He was surprised to realize he couldn't remember The Lieutenant's name. "Uh, the Tool Room Officer is running amok with a rivet gun and a hammer. I think he's going after the spider in the Jeffries tubes."

The security officer's voice carried a hint of annoyance. "Noted, Davis. We'll try not to kill him. Security out."

Max slumped against the console, trying hard to remember just why he'd left Utopia Planetia. Not a lot happened there. Back then it had been a boring place. But now boring sounded pretty good.

-----

The battle an hour later was hardly worthy of the name, and Max for one was happy because of it. The _Expeditious_ had tracked down and captured a renegade Sularian destroyer that had been operating in Draxian space in violation of local treaties, and the Draxians had appealed to the Federation for assistance. The Sularian vessel had put up a fight, but her weapons were too weak to threaten the Starfleet cruiser, and her own shields had dropped after the _Expeditious'_ first phaser volley. After that, Starfleet security teams had beamed in all over the ship and captured it in a manner of minutes.

Max had manned the engineering station on the battle bridge, a first for him. It hadn't amounted to much more than a chance to see the command element in action, but he'd found it fascinating to observe. But now the crisis was ended, and he headed back to main engineering.

He was almost there when his commbadge chirped. "Jones to Davis. Select a team to go to the Sularian destroyer for combat damage repair. We need to get it back under its own power so we can take it to Draxia."

Max nodded, then looked over his rosters. Scanning the list, he found seven exceptional officers and submitted a roster to Jones, who quickly approved it.

Did he want to go over there? Repairing the Sularian destroyer would be an engineering history lesson. Max grinned at the thought of trying to replicate items that were obsolete before replicators existed. What a mess that was going to be.

Then he thought about what it meant to remain on board the _Expeditious_. Those soulless arachnid eyes peered at him again from the darkness of his memories in the Jeffries tube. In all the excitement, he'd forgotten that Security was still trying to track the errant creature down.

He made a quick change to the roster, replacing Lambert with himself. No way he was staying on board while that thing was loose. Better to take his chances with the Sularians!

Max turned over the ship repair team coordination to Lambert, then gathered his team and headed for the tool room. Since The Lieutenant was still prowling through the Jeffries tubes in a desperate attempt to rescue his precious tricorder, Max found it easy to equip his team. "Grab whatever you think you'll need, ladies and gentlemen."

Baxley frowned. "But won't-"

Max smiled. "Nope."

Peterson opened her mouth. "But don't we have to-"

"Uh, uh. It's all taken care of." Max beamed.

Tox turned and looked at Max, a puzzled expression clouding his face. "But shouldn't we at least-"

"No!" Max laughed maniacally, then physically herded the engineers into the vacant tool room. "Believe me, it's open season on tools. Get what you need, and get your tails to transporter room two! Bwah-hah-hah!"

Overcoming their initial trepidation, the engineers were soon cooing over The Lieutenant's collection. Some expressed restrained outrage. "He never told me he had one of these! I could have shaved five hours off that last diagnostic!"

Max wandered to the back of the tool room, content to watch as The Lieutenant's tools were checked out in a haphazard flurry, with documentation scant and accountability suspect. He leaned against the bulkhead -

- and fell through a holographic wall onto his backside. Leaping to his feet, he walked around as only someone who just landed hard on their tailbone can do, muttering things that should have peeled the paint off the bulkheads, real or holographic. But as he marched in tight circles rubbing his backside, his pace slowed until finally he stood stock-still and let his mind process what he was seeing.

The walls were lined with satin hooks, precisely spaced. On each hook hung a chrome-plated tool. Overhead lighting combined with tiny floodlights liberally spread around the room made all the tools gleam in a dazzling display.

Max blinked several times, trying hard not to sing with the children's choir that was holding a major chord in his head. With a shaking hand, he reached out and gently took the nearest tool off its rack. He cradled it in the palm of his hand, balancing it and relishing the weight. He rolled it over and gaped at the inscription, then felt his mouth go dry.

Snap-On. The fiend had Snap-On tools and was hoarding them. Max's hand closed over the sonic wrench in a white-knuckled grip. He poked his head through the holographic wall and smiled sweetly at the other engineers. He was mildly disappointed that no one had missed him, but as they were all in an engineer's version of a feeding frenzy, he forgave them. "Oh, gu-uys. Check _this_ out! Snap-Ons!"

The silence of the next three seconds had the density of deutronium armor. Then Max barely kept from being trampled as they charged into The Lieutenant's inner sanctum. Within a minute, every hook was empty and Max was alone. He smiled to himself and hummed as he strolled back out into the main tool room. Sometimes life was just too good to be true.

The tiny camera in the corner of the ceiling tracked him until he passed through the holographic wall, then shut off, its motion detectors satisfied.

-----

Five minutes later, Max and his team materialized on the transporter pads of the Sularian ship, and were immediately greeted by two security officers in full armor. "Right this way, lieutenant."

Max followed the hulking security officer down a cramped passageway. His nostrils burned and his eyes watered. "Whew! What's burning?"

"Sir?"

"That smell! Ugh!" Max wrinkled his nose. "You guys burning the dead or something?"

The security officer shrugged. "It smelled like this when we first arrived."

Max pulled the collar of his uniform over his nose. Baxley chuckled. "I don't think your cootie filter is going to help here, lieutenant."

"Oh, shut up."

Max sighed. Baxley was right. The stench was just as bad, with his own pit odor added in.

He entered engineering and laughed out loud. The warp core was being held together with a hodgepodge of patches and struts. He actually had to duck under a series of temporary support rods to get to the main warp core controls. Tox followed him to the console. "Sir, how long have they been running this way?"

Max reached up and dragged his finger across the nearest support strut, then displayed the ball of crud to the ensign. "I'd say it's been a while."

He studied the archaic controls, wishing for all the world he could read Sularian. Finally he gave up and looked at the rest of his team. "Hey. Any of you read Sularianese?"

Amy stepped forward. "I took a class in the Academy. I could give it a shot."

Max stepped aside and made room for Amy. She studied the controls for a moment, then reached over and pointed to a large button. "I believe this should run a diagnostic."

Max nodded, and Amy pressed the button. A low whooping went off, and a Sularian voice started shouting Sularian in an ominous echoey Sularian manner. Max tried to decipher the readouts, but other than a number of ancient analog dials slowly shifting to the left, nothing was happening.

Then two security officers charged into engineering, looking very agitated. "Our prisoners say you've activated the self-destruct!"

Max glared at Amy, whose fingers were flying across the console. Finally the whooping stopped, the dials shifted back to the right, and the computer shut up. She blushed as she finished locking down the reactor. "Sorry."

Max sighed. "Let's study harder next time we're taking Sularian 101, shall we?"

Looking around, Max noted with satisfaction that his team was already fixing everything in sight. The damage looked primarily superficial, and the _Expeditious'_ engineers were knocking it out.

He stepped away, headed further back into the tiny engine room. The ship was a collection of oddities, with a lot of newer Ferengi technology cobbled together with the antique Sularian hardware. Their engineer wasn't much for aesthetics, but he was a heck of an improviser. How he had kept this old girl running was beyond Max's ability to fathom.

Amy let out a shout, and Max returned to her side. "I've got it, Max. This is the main engineering console. All other controls are slaved through this one. From the looks of it, she's in pretty good shape except for the damage she sustained from our volley. But she took some damage to the left warp core's coolant tanks. We can patch it easily enough, but we'll need to replace the coolant plasma."

Max nodded. "Not a problem." He tapped his commbadge. "Lieutenant Davis to Commander Jones."

"Jones here. Go ahead, Mr. Davis."

"Sir, most of the repairs over here are complete and we're ready to start up the engines, but we're going to need some coolant plasma from the _Expeditious'_ warp core."

"No problem, Davis. I'll transport some over shortly. Give me 10 minutes. Jones out."

Max looked around at the various Ferengi patches made to the original systems. "Yikes! Hey Baxley! Check this out!"

Baxley looked up from the scan he was running. "What's up, lieutenant?"

"You see this?" Max pointed to a set of leads running from the phase inhibiter to the antimatter injectors. "They actually run their antimatter through a phase streamer. How they kept from blowing themselves to kingdom come is beyond me."

His commbadge chirped. "Jones to Davis. The coolant plasma is on its way down to the transporter room. Good luck with the restart."

"Thank you, sir. Davis out."

Max continued to look around, wondering what other bizarre maintenance

practices he would uncover during this highly educational stroll through the dark side of the history of warp theory.

Well at least there weren't any giant alien spiders scurrying through the air vents.

Although it certainly smelled like it.


	10. Chapter 10

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Chapter 10**

Dear Mom and Dad,

Remember how I used to be fascinated by spiders as a kid? Well, forget it! We just left a planet that has two-meter long spiders. That was bad enough. But one of them was accidentally beamed up with a crate of flora samples. First I knew about it was when I ended up nose-to-mandible with it. Wow. I've _still_ got the creepy crawlies from that. Glad those things aren't poisonous. They _are_ fast, though. Took security almost a week to track it down and capture it so we could return it to the surface of the planet. Ugh!

Well, anyway, that's over with and things are back to normal. I've got an hour reserved on the holodeck tonight. Not sure what I'm going to do with it, but I'll think of something.

Your son,

Max

PS: Hannah wrote to me again. Judging from the amorous nature of the letter, I'd say she's finally forgiven me for 'ruining' her vacation at Starbase 61. To be honest, I liked it better when she was still mad at me.

-----

"Ho, sir knight. From whence do you hail?"

Max raised the visor on his helmet. "I ride from the Iron Keep. I seek the Sage of Elthandor."

The man standing at the foot of the bridge nodded. "I have heard of this Sage. Are you one of the knights of Lord Kantagon's table."

Max nodded. "That I am. Might I cross your bridge and continue about my business?"

"Certainly, sir knight. You may cross with my blessing."

Max tipped his helmet to the man guarding the bridge, then continued across. Looking around the countryside, he smiled at the tranquility.

Max had, despite the circumstances, thoroughly enjoyed Amy's medieval holodeck program during Hannah's visit. Now he was exploring it from a more relaxed perspective. He'd disabled all the monsters, dark knights, and evil wizards. He felt that a quiet ride through the countryside would help him to get used to riding a horse and wearing the restrictive plate mail so common in this era. And it gave him a chance to see the layout of the holodeck universe, so when he actually _did_ attempt an adventure, he wouldn't waste time riding heroically in the wrong direction.

The computer's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Lieutenant Davis, your holodeck time will end in five minutes."

Max sighed. It had taken him longer to strap on the armor than he'd thought. He made a mental note to start the next holodeck session already suited up. Max dismounted and looked around one last time. "Computer, save and end program." The grassy glade faded, and Max stood alone in the holodeck. Turning to the exit, he was surprised to see Commanders T'skaut and L'pon standing there watching him. "Er, did I run overtime?"

"No, lieutenant. We arrived early, not realizing that someone was already in the holodeck. We took the opportunity to observe a simulation of one stage of Earth's development." T'skaut nodded slightly. "Your armor was Saxon in design, correct?"

Max shrugged. "Beats me. It's whatever Amy – I mean, Lieutenant Peterson programmed it to be."

"You are unaware of the origin of the armor you chose to wear during this holodeck exercise?" T'skaut's eyebrow arched in that annoying Vulcan fashion.

Max nodded, chagrined. "I'm afraid so. I was spending this hour as more of a relaxation session than a history lesson."

The Vulcan studied Max for a moment. "Very well, Lieutenant. We shall not delay you further."

"Thank you, sir." Max hustled past the two Vulcans, eager to be away from the piercing stare of the first officer. Max wasn't a xenophobe by any stretch of the definition – several of his fellow engineers on Utopia Planetia had been Vulcans. But the Vulcan habit of applying strict logic to everything anyone ever did made Max question his own actions more than he felt was necessary, and Commander T'skaut was exceptionally good at bringing this introspection to the surface of Max's mind.

He returned to his quarters and replicated a paperback copy of Frank Peretti's This Present Darkness, a novel Max had read several times before and considered a classic. Sitting down in his chair, he kicked off his boots and moved the reading lamp by his ear until the light shone perfectly on the pages of the book. Adjusting his headrest, he smiled and turned to the first chapter.

"Jones to Davis"

Max sighed as he closed the book. "Go ahead, Commander."

"I've gotten a maintenance request from Commander T'skaut. Apparently there's a problem with the holodeck. Since you were just in there, perhaps you can help sort things out."

Max nodded as he rose from his chair, pausing to shut off the reading lamp. "I'm on my way, Commander. Davis out."

Max set the novel on his headboard and pulled his boots back on, then headed off to the holodeck. When he arrived, he found the holodeck in operation. Tapping his commbadge, he said, "Davis to Commander T'skaut. Are you in need of assistance?"

T'skaut's reply was calm, but more strained than Max had ever remembered hearing the Vulcan. "Lieutenant Davis, please disengage the holodeck manually. The verbal commands have failed to deactivate the holodeck matrix."

Max looked at the holodeck controls. The Vulcans had run a basic program simulating a section of their homeworld. No animals or other sentient characters had been factored in, so the intent was apparently to provide a specific terrain.

Max tried to deactivate the program, but the basic keypad command was no more effective than T'skaut's oral commands. Max checked for error codes, but found nothing amiss. Even a quick level one diagnostic failed to enlighten the puzzled engineer.

"I guess I might as well take a peek inside." Max stepped in front of the massive doors. "Computer, open arch." The doors slid open obediently. Max peered in, then frowned. "Commander T'skaut, I thought Vulcan was an arid world with temperatures averaging well over forty degrees Centigrade."

Roughly twenty meters away from the arch huddled the Vulcan pair. The snow falling heavily around them very nearly obscured the fact that they were perched on a small ledge on the side of a steep mountain. Max stuck his head inside the arch and confirmed that the chasm that dropped away at the feet of the shivering Vulcans extended all the way to the arch. Why they hadn't simply physically departed the holodeck was now crystal clear.

T'skaut's voice floated across the chasm, weakened by the snowfall. "There is obviously some form of malfunction occurring. It does not normally snow in the Ronalen mountain range."

Max barely heard the commander's statement. He was back at the controls by the door. "Computer, emergency override. Deactivate program immediately."

"Unable to comply. Holodeck program will not terminate until objective is reached."

Max frowned. _Objective?_ "Computer, identify objective."

"To seek out the Sage of Elthandor."

Max hung his head. "I was afraid you would say that." Max shook his head. Somehow his medieval program had merged with Commander T'skaut's Vulcan homeworld program, and now the two merged programs were twisted into this snowy mountain peak with no access to the arch and no response to termination orders. He knew Vulcans didn't fare well in arctic climates, so he didn't have much time.

Tapping his commbadge, he requested an emergency beam-out of the stranded pair, and was rewarded with a transporter beam that whisked them off to sickbay for exposure and hypothermia treatment. When he saw an empty ledge where they had sat seconds ago, he breathed a sigh of relief. The time-critical element of this repair had been dealt with, and now it was simply a matter of cracking the elusive maintenance code once again.

Max ran a level two diagnostic, but the results came back negative as well. According to the diagnostic computer, the fact that the holodeck had merged two programs, refused to deactivate, and made the arch inaccessible to the occupants was no problem at all. Opening the maintenance access panel adjacent to the controls, he started inspecting isolinear chips, hoping to find a corrupted circuit that could be easily replaced. But he wasn't surprised to find them all in excellent working order.

Stepping back, he frowned. So what _would_ cause this sort of malfunction? Perhaps the relay junction powering the main holofield generator had fused. It was conceivable that a burned-out microcircuit in such a central location could cause all this grief, though Max could have sworn that the designers of the holodeck installed numerous back-ups to ensure this very thing didn't happen.

Calling up a system schematic on his tricorder, he groaned. The main holofield generator was in the direct center of the ceiling in the holodeck room. Normally an engineer would bring a ladder into the deactivated holodeck to reach it. This was currently not an option. So that meant getting at it from the deck above. Double-checking the schematics, he groaned. The holofield generator lay two meters beneath the bar in Ten-Forward.

Max switched over to check if perhaps there was some sort of ventilation shaft running through the deck in that area. To his surprise, he discovered that a minor offshoot of a Jeffries tube ran right along that section of the deck. Looked like it was going to be easier than he'd thought.

-----

_This is harder than I thought!_

Max squeezed through the maintenance shaft, inching along as he dragged his tool box with an extension cord lashed to his waist. His tricorder told him that another meter was all he needed to cover before he could begin removing access panels and working on the holofield generator.

He looked back between his feet. It had taken him twenty minutes to crawl fifteen meters, and the experience hadn't been pleasant. When he was finished, he would have to ask his parents if they'd envisioned maintenance midgets when they had designed this particular maintenance shaft. Max was by no means obese, but he believed that had he had a second helping of the lasagna he'd replicated for lunch earlier that day, he'd be stuck right now.

Finally reaching the spot, he pulled the toolbox up where he could reach it and began removing panels to gain access to the generator below. Shoving them further down the shaft out of the way, he studied the holofield generator with increasing concern.

_Where's the access cover?_

With a grimace, Max realized that the access panel on the generator would naturally be on the bottom where an engineer on a ladder could get at it from below. Grumbling to himself, he started removing more shaft panels to make way for him to worm himself around the generator so he could reach the access panel. Sliding down along the warm casing of the generator, Max strained to reach the access panel. He just about had his fingers on it when the ceiling tile he was lying on gave way, and he fell with a shout into the holodeck.

Max's scream was cut off violently when the extension cord around his waist went taut and Max's plummet was halted abruptly. Max wheezed, the sudden stop knocking the wind out of him. Squinting in pain, he felt the chill as the wind whistled past him. Snow whipped around him, stinging him as it passed. Forcing his eyes open, he stared down at a five-meter drop to a rocky outcropping on the side of the same mountain where T'skaut and L'pon had been trapped. He could see the closed holodeck arch hanging in the air twenty meters away from the ledge, still completely out of reach. Looking up, he could see an irregular hole in the night sky, through which he spotted the tool box wedged between two struts supporting the generator. Reaching up, he grabbed the extension cord and started to pull himself back to safety.

Then he saw where the cord was rubbing against a jagged edge of the tile he'd fallen through. _No. Even _my_ luck can't be _that_ bad._

As if responding to a dare, the cord snapped, and Max fell to the ledge below, landing hard on his ankle. Tumbling to the edge, he barely managed to keep himself from falling off the cliff. Looking up at the distant hole in the holodeck ceiling, he shouted, "Computer, end program!"

As T'skaut had experienced before him, the holodeck failed to deactivate, and Max began to shiver. Tapping his commbadge, Max called the transporter room. "Davis to transporter room . . ." His voice trickled off to nothing when he noticed that instead of tapping his commbadge, he'd simply tapped the spot on his jersey where the commbadge normally resided. Apparently it had been knocked off during his fall. Max looked around, but couldn't find it anywhere.

The things Max said during the next five minutes were things that he was later immensely relieved to find out were too muffled bythe sounds of the storm to be properly recorded.

When Max's ranting had finally given way to a determination to figure a way out of this mess, he sat down in a spot somewhat out of the wind and started assessing the situation. He was stuck in a simulation of a mountain height experiencing a blizzard. He was inadequately dressed for the occasion, and estimated another half hour before hypothermia and frostbite began to set in. He had lost his commbadge, so he couldn't call for help, and the holodeck computer was completely unresponsive, so he couldn't get it to relay a message to the main computer.

Unless someone checked on him in the very near future, they were going to have a freeze-dried engineer on their hands.

Max looked at the length of extension cord still wrapped around his waist. The entire piece was no more than three meters long, not enough to reach anything useful by a long shot. Untying it, he coiled it and hooked it to his belt anyway. In this situation, he felt that he should keep a firm grip on what few assets he had.

Dragging himself to his feet, he winced as his ankle protested. He looked down at it, willing it to be intact. He wasn't quite sure if it was a desperate need to have two functional ankles in order to increase his chances of survival, or the desire to avoid further exposure to Commander Slith's aggressive therapy. Either way, he was relieved to find that if he was gentle, he could put weight on the injured ankle.

Something echoed in the back of Max's mind, and he looked up suddenly. "Computer, identify objective."

"To seek out the Sage of Elthandor."

"Where is the sage of Elthandor?"

The computer was silent. Max looked around, but all he could see was windswept mountainside and dark cloudy sky. There wasn't so much as a single sign of life in view.

Max started to pick his way down the side of the mountain, soon reaching the ledge where the Vulcans had been trapped. The slope increased dramatically downward, and Max saw little in the way of ledges or even handholds further down. It appeared he was as trapped as the first officer and science officer had been.

Looking back up the mountain, he sighed. If he couldn't go down, then he had to go up. Grunting at the protest of his ankle, he started climbing back up the way he'd come. Soon he pulled himself back onto the outcropping he'd initially landed on. Five meters above him, the ragged hole in the clouds still mocked him with its proximity. A decent ladder would have gotten him where he needed to be. He looked around for a good-sized rock to throw at the generator, but remembered that the instant the holodeck matter left the boundaries of the holodeck, it dissipated. A holographic rock hurled at the generator would have less impact than a spitwad.

Grumbling and shivering, Max started working his way further up the mountain. Fortunately, the slope gradually decreased until it was more hiking than climbing. Max worked his way higher, following the contours of the rough terrain. Rounding a corner, he was thrilled to discover a small cave opening. Hustling into the cave, he breathed a sigh of relief at finally being out of the wind. He stared out at the swirling flakes as the storm continued without him, grinning at his good fortune.

A motion in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned to look deeper in the cave. The walls further in were illuminated by a flickering light source, and Max realized that it was a fire. "Hello?"

"Come in, come in. About time you had sense enough to get in out of the cold." The voice reminded Max of his grandfather, a grumpy old man who had rejected technology and bought a piece of land in upper Minnesota. Max and his parents had visited him there once, but the old fellow was so adamant against any form of technology that they'd soon made excuses for having to depart so soon.

Max hobbled down the tunnel, finally coming to a place where the cave opened into a small room. In the middle of the room was a large fire, and roasting on the fire was what appeared to be a rabbit. Next to the fire was a bundle of furs that suddenly poked an emaciated arm out at him. "Sit down. No need to be shy."

Max felt the heat of the fire warming his face, and didn't have to be told twice. Dropping down next to the bundle of furs, he tried to smile, but his face hurt too much. "Th-thank you."

The top of the bundle turned to face him, and Max realized that it was the head of an old man. "What brings you all the way up here, young feller? Mighty lousy night for sightseeing."

Max grinned, his face thawing enough for the expression to emerge. "You're telling me. I thought I was a Popsicle looking for a place to prop myself up."

The old man reached a gaunt arm over to a kettle Max hadn't noticed until then. Gripping the handle of the ladle, he poured a dark liquid into a tin cup. "Care for some coffee?"

Max nodded. "Sure." Normally he wasn't a coffee drinker, preferring Dr. Pepper for his caffeine fixes, but today was an obvious exception.

The old man handed Max the cup, and he took a careful sip. He grimaced immediately. The old man made his coffee strong enough not only to wake the dead, but to have them doing calisthenics.

The old man noticed his expression. "Sorry, but I don't have any cream or sugar. It's been a while since I made a supply run."

Max looked around the cave, noticing a number of odds and ends scattered along the edges of the rough floor. "You live here?"

The old man held up three fingers, then made a show of folding one down. "Yes. Yes I do. This is my humble abode."

Max thought the gesture odd, but figured that so many things surrounding him already fell firmly in that category that he didn't feel the need to question one more. "Nice place you have here. Cozy."

The old man gave him a hard look. "You think so, do you? Would _you_ want to live in a crummy little cave on top of a mountain in the middle of blizzard season?"

Max was taken aback. "No, I guess not." He frowned. "So why do you live here if you hate it so much?"

The old man held up two fingers, then folded one down dramatically. "Because I am the Sage of Elthindor, and apparently that is what the Sage of Elthindor does. Seems a stupid thing for someone as clever as me to do, but those are the rules."

Max gaped. "You're the Sage of-"

He cut himself off as the old man thrust the final finger an inch from his nose. "Think before you ask, boy!"

Max opened his mouth to speak. Then he closed it. After repeating this a couple times, he looked at the scowling old man. "You're the Sage of Elthindor."

The old man's scowl deepened. He waved his index finger in front of Max's eyes. "Is that a question?"

"No," Max answered slowly, "it's an assumption. And I further assume that the finger you are holding up represents the number of questions remaining that you will answer for me."

The old man nodded. "Very nice. I don't normally give out freebies, but that will do nicely. I _am_ the Sage of Elthindor, and this," he examined the extended finger as though seeing it for the first time, "is how many questions you have left."

Max sighed. "You know, a sign at the entrance to the cave explaining all this would probably be a nice addition to your little home business."

The sage shrugged. "I had one. It blew away a month ago. Never got around to putting up another one. Not a lot of demand for my services, you see. In fact, I think you're the first."

Max rubbed his temples. He had one question left, and it had better be a good one. If he asked the wrong question, then he might find himself stuck in this cave with this old man for a long time.

He wondered if he could simply assume his way to the answer. "I assume you don't know what a holodeck is."

The sage bristled. "Of course I know. I'm a sage, after all. Arrogant whelp." The old man's voice took on a mocking falsetto. "'The poor old fool lives in a cave. He obviously knows nothing of twenty-fourth century technology. I'll assume he's a techno-moron!' Feh!" The sage spat into the fire angrily.

Max swallowed. "My apologies. Most holodeck characters are unaware that they are on a holodeck."

The sage nodded. "I imagine they would be. They're simply computer subroutines, after all. Not sentient beings like us."

Max nodded slowly, dropping his next three assumptions. To sit arguing with the sage about his existence was at the very least an unproductive strategy. And if the sage went screaming into the snowy night driven mad by the realization that he was simply a fictitious character in a holodeck adventure, then it would make asking him the third question significantly more difficult. "So I can assume that you know how to deactivate a holodeck when it has somehow merged two programs and locked out its termination commands."

"You could assume that," said the old man, "But you'd be a stark raving loony to do so. I live in a _cave_, man! What do _I_ know about fixing holodecks??"

"But you said you knew about holodecks."

The old man glared at Max like he'd asked for money. "I _did_, but that doesn't make me a lousy Starfleet engineer! Ye gads, lad! Do _you_ know how to fix a malfunctioning holodeck?"

Max frowned, offended at the sage's tone. "Of course I do. I just happen to _be_ a Starfleet engineer, thank you."

The old man leaned forward, his nose almost touching Max's. His voice dropped to a gravelly rasp. "Then what're you doing climbing around the mountains in the middle of a blizzard asking me if _I_ can fix one? Go fix the thing yourself and leave me alone, you empty-headed brat!"

Max drew back from the angry sage. "But you-" He stopped abruptly, spotting something against the far wall that he hadn't noticed before. Suddenly, Max knew his third question.

"Could I borrow your ladder?"

-----

"Come on, Bill! We've only got this thing for an hour. Let's get going." Rhonda grinned as her boyfriend struggled with the holodeck controls. She suddenly pouted. "Or are you having second thoughts about a romantic getaway to Risa?"

Bill was certainly having second thoughts about that, but only thoughts of rising panic that he might not be able to take Rhonda to the holodeck Risa as planned. "Just another minute, honey. I think I've about got it."

The holodeck doors slid open, and Bill smiled. "See? I told you it'd just be a minute."

Rhonda snuggled up next to him. "Lead the way, loverboy." The amorous couple started into the holodeck, then stopped in their tracks. Hanging from the ceiling by one hand was a shivering engineer.

He glared down at them. "This holodeck is out of service. Now go get me a ladder!"


	11. Chapter 11

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Chapter 11**

Dear Mom and Dad,

_Remember when I told you how versatile replicators were? Well, I think holodeck diagnostic systems are in need of some of that versatility. I had a run-in with a holodeck today that I won't soon forget. Did you ever consider how tricky it is to repair one of those things when it won't shut down? If it happens again, I'm going to beam the entire holofield projector assembly outside the ship's hull, then work on it with remotes!_

We arrived in orbit around Altair Three. They've got some sort of civil war about to start, and we're here to serve as mediators between the two sides. Don't worry – I'm staying on board the ship. There's nothing for me to do down there, anyway.

Your son,

Max

-----

Max entered Engineering, only to find the place scrambling. He snagged a passing ensign. "What's going on?"

"Some mine collapsed down on the surface. Hundreds are dead, and hundreds more are trapped. We're putting together a team to go down and help." The ensign broke loose and headed deeper into engineering, intent on her particular task.

Max spotted Jones coordinating things. Shoving through the other engineers, he stepped in from of the chief engineer. "Sir, what do you want me to do?"

"We're sending several teams down with excavation gear. We need to get the survivors out as quickly as possible."

Max nodded. "Are we sending anyone into the mine itself?"

Jones shook his head. "I hadn't planned on it. We don't know if that mine will finish collapsing."

Max thought for a moment. "But sir, we could use the local layout of the mine to beam down a couple people, then reinforce sections of the mine from below. We could set up a safe spot to work from, then start handing out commbadges for the transporter room to lock onto. I'm just going to need-"

Jones cut him off. "Davis, it's not going to happen. The elements in that mine are scrambling our sensors - we have no way of telling if we'd be beaming you into an open space or a pile of solid rock. We can't trust the schematics - they just aren't precise enough for this kind of search-and-rescue."

"But sir-"

Jones scowled. "_No_, lieutenant! Now head up bravo team. You'll be the primary excavation team."

Max started to argue, then bit his tongue. "Aye, sir." He headed toward the tool room, then thought better of it. What he needed, he could replicate much faster. He left engineering and headed for cargo bay one. Once there, he replicated twenty portable structural supports, twenty light-weight spotlights, ten first-aid kits, and five hundred commbadges. Loading them all onto two antigrav sleds, he guided them both over to the bulk transporter. Calling up a local layout of the mine, he zeroed in on a large cavern that the miners had been using as a temporary underground headquarters. The additional supports installed by the mining company had made the cavern one of the more stable points in the mine, and it was deep enough to be insulated from the shock that had collapsed the upper levels.

He ran a quick scan of the area, but as Jones had pointed out, the mine's high mineral content bounced the sensors all over the hemisphere. Max sighed. He was truly leaping into the void.

Briefly he fingered his lieutenant's pips, wondering if Jones would be satisfied with taking just the one.

After setting the transporter controls to the dubious coordinates and overriding the safeties, Max stepped onto the transporter pad. He said a prayer even as he felt the transporter beam's tingle. After a brief instant of eternity, Max materialized, then blinked. He couldn't see a thing.

_Either I'm in the mine, or I'm dead._

He activated his light, and a dusty cavern appeared in the narrow beam. Max let out a long breath, then turned and inventoried his equipment. Thankfully, everything made it.

Looking around, he determined that the excavation appeared stable, at least for the moment. No large boulders were littering the ground. No major cracks were criss-crossing the ceiling.

"Hello?"

Max whipped around. Two miners were staggering out of a tunnel into the cave, covered in dust. Their coveralls were torn, and they were bleeding in several places.

Max ran over to them, bringing an extra light and a first-aid kit. "I'm Lieutenant Davis from the _Expeditious_. Call me Max." He looked them over as he popped open the med-kit and ran the medical tricorder. He wasn't a corpsman, but he could tell that their injuries were minor.

Max gave each one of them a commbadge. "Put these on." He tapped his own badge. "Davis to _Expeditious_. I have two miners for you to beam to the surface. Can you lock onto them?"

"We've got their signals, but just barely. Do you have transporter enhancers?"

Max winced. How could he have forgotten those? "Negative, _Expeditious_. After you beam these two out, send me a few."

"Will do, Davis. _Expeditious_ out."

The miners disappeared, and a moment later the transporter enhancers arrived. Max set them up, then started down a tunnel with the sleds in tow. "Hello? Anybody down here?"

He didn't get far before finding evidence that the tunnel had taken some damage. Pausing at a weak spot, he set up two of the structural reinforcement rods.

A moan from further down the tunnel caught his attention, and Max hurried toward it. He rounded a bend and stopped, stunned. The tunnel had caved in, blocking the way. Three miners lay partially exposed, caught in the rubble. Max could tell that they were in terrible shape. Kneeling beside the miners, he slapped commbadges on all three of them, then called the _Expeditious_ for beam-out to the surface. Seconds later, they were gone.

Checking to make sure he wasn't missing anyone, he jogged back to the main cavern. There were about twenty miners gathered there, arguing about how to get out. Max introduced himself, and started dealing out commbadges.

Another rumble shook them all. Dust trickled down from several new faults in the ceiling of the cavern, and Max looked at the senior miner. "Look, I want to get you all out of here, but I need a couple people who know the mines to stay here and help me for a bit."

Nearly every hand went up. The senior miner started dividing them into four-man teams, and Max handed each of them a light. They immediately started down the different tunnels, looking for their comrades.

Max grabbed a few miners and started bracing the ceiling with the supports. The injured he had beamed to the surface.

He tapped his badge. "Davis to _Expeditious_. How are the topside operations going?"

Lieutenant Commander Bernel, the Operations officer, replied, "Things are going well, although it will be some time before they can get down to where you're at. How did you get down there, Lieutenant Davis?"

Max chose to ignore the question. "I need more structural support beams down here, and more lights. There are a lot of survivors down here."

Bernel's voice crackled back at him. "They will be transported as soon as possible, Lieutenant. Do you need any additional support?"

Max looked at the head miner, who shook his head. "No, Commander. The miners have all they need down here. I'm just helping keep the ceiling up and keeping out from underfoot while they dig out their friends. If I get low on commbadges, I'll call for more."

"Lieutenant, we are having difficulty maintaining a transporter lock on your location. If we lose our lock on your coordinates, your rescue mission will be delayed until corrections can be made."

Max swallowed. "Noted, Commander. I'll hurry, but if I'm still down here when that happens, I guess I'll just wait it out."

_Like I'd have a choice._

Just then the cave rumbled again, and the ceiling's cracks widened. Max snatched up a support and started toward the center of the cave. The head miner grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. "Wait! It's about to go!"

Max pointed at the other tunnels opening into the main cavern. "If we lose this cave, we lose seven of these eight tunnels! Let's go!" Max broke free and dashed to brace the crumbling ceiling. The miner swore, then joined him with another support. Max took a medium-sized chunk of rock in the temple and saw stars, but managed to stabilize the center of the cave.

The miner scowled at the supports as he shuffled to get another brace. "It won't hold for long."

Max sat down, hoping to clear his head. "Every second counts. Any luck in tunnel five?"

The miner looked down the dark passageway where they knew a number of miners were trapped on the far side of a large cave-in. "Possibly. I'll go check."

Max watched as the miner hurried down the tunnel, his light dancing ahead of him. Max crawled over to another support beam, intent on setting up another brace. He only made it halfway to the stack before dizziness caused him to lay face-down and close his eyes waiting for the cave to stop spinning.

Dimly he heard cheers coming from the tunnel, and he opened his eyes to see almost a hundred miners pour out into the main cavern, many injured and being helped by their comrades. Several of them grabbed the remaining support struts and finished the job Max had started. Two of them ripped open a first-aid kit and started cleaning the wound on Max's forehead. "Are you all right?"

Max grinned. "Yeah, Mom. I'm fine. Can I go back to the playground now?"

The miners looked at each other nervously. Max pointed over at the case of replicated commbadges. "You guys want some of those? They'll beam you up where the sun's shining, I think."

The head miner nodded, and the badges were quickly passed out. Max nodded in dreamy approval. "Yeah, just stick 'em right on your coveralls." He flopped his head around and grinned at the head miner. "All right, who's first?"

The head miner gave the dazed engineer a worried look. "Everyone who was on the day shift has been accounted for. We're ready to go."

Max beamed. "Cool. Always nice to travel as a group. You get gre-e-e-eat discounts that way." He tapped his commbadge. "Hey, Expo! Max here! We got a crowd ready to go! Take us out, baby!"

On the bridge, T'skaut's jaw dropped open in shock. "This is Commander T'skaut speaking. Who is this?"

Max giggled. "I _told_ you - Max! Maxwell Davis, engineer extraordinaire! Beam us up, T'skauty!"

T'skaut scowled, despite himself. "How many people are down there, Lieutenant Davis?"  
Max rolled his eyes. He started counting, but between the movement in the group and the double-vision that was plaguing him, Max quickly gave up. "_All_ of us! God bless us, every last one!"

T'skaut closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then turned to tactical. "Beam the miners to the surface, where we've been sending the other rescued workers. But I want Lieutenant Davis sent directly to the brig."

The ensign smirked. "Yes, sir."

Max materialized in a holding cell in the brig, covered in blood and dust. He looked up at the brig guards with a puzzled frown. "Hey! I'm gonna miss the party . . ."

He fell backwards and passed out, his protest only half-finished.


	12. Chapter 12

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Chapter 12**

Dear Mom and Dad,

Had a chance to meet some of the local miners at our last stop. Decent folks - I didn't really get to know them, though. We were all really busy. But I enjoyed the experience nonetheless. But if you've ever worried about me choosing mining as a career, then worry no more. I've seen the fun side of mining, and it isn't that fun. The stars for me!

We've had some weird glitches lately. Remember when we had that Oberth-class frigate with intermittent power losses? We never did figure out what had caused that grief, did we? Well, it appears the _Expeditious_ is dealing with something similar. Ah, it's looking like another day of unorthodox troubleshooting. The stuff of engineers . . .

Your son,

Max

-----

Max groped in the dark for the flashlight, then swore under his breath when it also failed to illuminate. Something had just killed power in the Jeffries tube he'd been working in. Somehow, even his flashlight had been affected. Now he sat stewing in the dark, wondering if the emergency lighting was going to kick in.

Five minutes and twenty-three verses of "I'm Henry the Eighth" later, Max concluded that the emergency lights had also been disabled.

_Great_.

The Expedition's engineers had been chasing ghost gripes like this all over the ship all day. What should have been a routine annual phase inspection of the primary and auxiliary power distribution systems was rapidly turning into a wild goose chase. Minor systems were dropping off-line faster than snowflakes in a blizzard, only to mysteriously power back up after hours of fruitless searching for the problem. Max didn't believe in ghosts, although it was becoming more and more difficult with each inexplicable malfunction.

Feeling his way back along the tube, he stopped at a junction and looked down both adjoining tubes. Far to his left he was able to see a lit passage.

"Well, at least we're not talking a ship-wide outage." Max tapped his commbadge, but all it did was give off a high-pitched whine. "Neat."

At that moment, the lights came back on, and Max gathered his tools. He looked at his chronometer. Ah - lunch! Max hurried off to the tool room.

After two hours of tool cleaning under the baleful glare of The Lieutenant, Max swung by his quarters for a late lunch. Tossing his jersey on the back of his desk chair, he ordered his meal as he sat down in front of his terminal. "Foot-long turkey on wheat with usual condiments."

The replicator hummed, and Max reached over to grab the sub from the tray. Taking a bite, he activated his terminal. Several messages popped up and he started scanning them.

Three messages from the Utopia Planetia Tolkien Appreciation fan club reminding him of the annual re-enactment of the Lord of the Rings that he was going to miss for the first time since he'd graduated from the Academy. He smiled, remembering his stirring rendition of Legolas last year.

Four messages from his parents. Three technical upgrade briefs forwarded from the R&D at Utopia Planetia for his personal information. And one cheery letter from his mother. The usual paragraph about what a nice girl Hannah was appeared right between the paragraph stating that nothing new was going on and the standard thinly-veiled 'why aren't you dating anyone' query. Max read the letter, responded, then deleted it.

Eight e-mails from Hannah. Max deleted them without reading them, partially because he was still angry about the week on Starbase Four and partially because he was fairly certain that he knew exactly what she had written in each of them, ranging from pledges of undying love to not-so-subtle warnings that she was going to talk to his mother about his antisocial behavior to downright threats of bodily harm. Hannah was nothing if not consistent when it came to hounding him.

One message from a fellow engineer stationed on the USS Inveigle. Max scanned the news from the Tholian border, fired off a quick reply, then deleted it.

Finally, he spotted a memo from his boss.

_Lieutenant Davis_

_In addition to the other maintenance scheduled, we have a weapons upgrade under way. I want you to install DNA code locks onto the firing sequencers and all inventory and loader controls to the deck two magazine. The USS Horizon has the same system for their arms. I will chat with their chief engineer about any bugs to be aware of._

_Commander Jones_

Max nodded thoughtfully. "All right. I'll have to check with Lambert to see how far along we are on the refits. I've been running around in a Jeffries tube all morning."

Finishing off the sandwich, he slipped his jersey back on and headed back to Engineering. Spotting Lambert, he grinned. "Hey, Jason. What's the status on the torpedo refit?"

Lambert checked a padd. "So far, so good. We're getting just about everything done on time and done right."

Max smiled. "How about the DNA code locks?"

Lambert's expression hardened. "Not so good there. The software is pretty fickle. It works, but not in a manner that anyone is going to accept."

Max frowned. "What do you mean?"

Lambert gestured to the tactical maintenance console. "See for yourself."

Max stepped over to the console. "Computer, activate dorsal phaser banks for test-fire."

The computer replied smoothly, "Please provide right handprint for authentication."

Max placed his hand on the scanner pad. The pad glowed a soft red, and a warning buzzer went off. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant Davis. Authentication failed. Please wash your hand and re-try."

Max blinked. "Wash my hand?"

"Your handprint is 99.99993% verified. While acceptable for confirming your identity, this is below minimum standards for authentication and access to weapons control. Please wash your hand and re-try."

"99.99993%?? That's almost a perfect match!!" Max looked at Lambert. "What's going on?"

Lambert shrugged. "Near as we can tell, it's trying to match the dirt particles on your hand with the ones that were there when you made your initial reference scan."

Max rolled his eyes. "Well, of _course_ that doesn't match! I'll never have that exact dirt pattern again!" He turned back to the scanner. "Computer! I need access to your subroutines in order to adjust the minimum acceptable percentage match settings."

"Please provide right handprint for authentication."

Max gritted his teeth. "You already _have_ my right handprint! Use that!"

"Your handprint is 99.99993% verified. While acceptable for confirming your identity, this is below minimum standards for authentication and access to minimum acceptable percentage match settings. Please wash your hand and re-try."

Peterson looked up from the diagnostic she was running in the battle bridge. Had that been a distant scream of frustration she'd just overheard?

_Naah . . ._

-----

Max stepped off the transporter pad. "How's it going, Jason?"

Lambert came around from behind the transporter control panel and handed Max a padd. Oddly enough, he made a point of shoving it into Max's left hand. "Before you say or do anything, read this and note the authentication. You wrote this before we did this. This was your idea. I'm just going along with your plan. Got it?"

Max blinked. "Err . . . yeah. Sure, Jason."

Max read the padd.

_Max,_

_Hey, this is me writing to myself. Weird, huh? Well, anyway, here's what's going on. The DNA scanner that you just made a handprint for is malfunctioning, and we can't get into it. But since you made a test run of transporter one five minutes after you made that scan, we have your last buffer pattern in the memory. It just might be close enough to match the scan on the reader, allowing us to get into the programming and lower the criteria. So head straight to Engineering with Jason. He'll bring you up to speed._

_Oh, by the way – don't touch anything with your right hand!_

_Max_

Max looked up at Lambert. "You're kidding, right?"

Lambert shook his head. "Negative, Max. I only went along with this because you were going to do it with or without me. I figured if I was helping, you might have a slim chance of surviving this with all your extremities."

Max smiled suddenly. "You really had me going for a minute, Jason. I swear, sometimes you are the king of the practical joke." He looked up at the ceiling. "Computer, what is the ship time?"

"The time is 1400 hours."

Max paled. "But I – it's only 0800!" He gaped at Lambert. "I just had breakfast!"

Lambert nodded. "Yeah. Then you spent the morning running around repairing faulty relays and chasing ghostly power outages. Then you had a sub sandwich for lunch and joined me in Engineering, where you found yourself locked in mortal combat with a DNA scanner. After the Nth attempt to break into the programming, you had the brilliant idea to have yourself recycled in the transporter because you'd done a transporter check immediately after making your reference scan for the DNA scanner, and you thought that you'd beat it that way."

Max shook his head, horrified. "No way! I've just erased five hours of my life? To fix a _DNA scanner?!_"

Lambert shrugged. "Yeah. I thought it was pretty stupid, too. And just a tad illegal. That's why we came down here during Jerry's lunch break. At your insistence, I erased the pattern buffer, so you aren't getting those five hours back. But all you lost was a morning of routine maintenance and a sub sandwich, so let's get going before your sweat moves too many dirt particles."

Lambert dragged Max out into the corridor and off to Engineering.

-----

Two minutes later, the pair stood in Engineering. Max placed his hand on the scanner pad. The pad glowed a soft red, and a warning buzzer went off. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant Davis. Authentication failed. Please wash your hand and re-try."

Max groaned. "Wash my hand?"

"Your handprint is 99.99998% verified. While acceptable for confirming your identity, this is below minimum standards for authentication and access to weapons control. Please wash your hand and re-try."

Max looked at Lambert quizzically. Lambert simply shook his head. "Well, that's that."

Max sighed. "That's five hours I'd like to have back."

Just then The Lieutenant lumbered up to them, waving a hydrospanner over his head. "Davis, you've done it again!! Look at this tool!" The Lieutenant thrust the hydrospanner into Max's hands.

Max stared at the hydrospanner for several uncomfortable seconds. "Err . . . what am I looking for?"

The Lieutenant turned purple. "Oh, nothing special. Just that massive gouge in the lower jaw!!"

Max squinted at the spanner's lower jaw. Holding it just right under the light revealed a minute scratch in the duralloy finish. "You mean that?" Max sighed. "Fine. I'll recycle this in the replicator and bring it back to you good as new. Happy?"

The Lieutenant scowled. "No. But knowing you, that's the best offer I'll get, so I'd better take it." Turning, he lumbered back to the tool room.

Max scrutinized the heavy tool again, then suddenly grinned evilly. Letting out a loud whoop, he hefted the spanner over his head and brought it crashing down on the DNA scanner, snapping it neatly from its mount and smashing it on the deck. Dropping the spanner with a clunk, Max grabbed two wires and touched their leads together.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Davis. Authentication verified. Access granted to all subsystems."

Max smiled. "See? Now we can fix it right."

Jason shook his head sadly. "If we could operate the control pad."

Max followed Jason's gaze to the wrecked controls at his feet. "Ah. I see what you mean. Well, I suppose we could replicate a replacement control pad."

Jason shook his head. "Nope. Those are individually produced with internal codes to keep people from doing what you just did. We're going to have to have the template sent to us from Utopia Planetia. Probably take a couple hours of bureaucratic red tape."

Max grinned. "Well, since we're on hold until the template comes in, let's change over with Beta shift and get them started on the rest of the overhaul. Care for a racquetball rematch?"

Jason snorted. "Why? So I can skunk you again?"

Max frowned. "That wasn't a skunk! I got a point!"

Jason shook his head. "You told me I had a message, then served while I was off the court. That doesn't count."

Max sighed. "Well it _should_ count."

-----

Max finished his turnover with the beta crew chief and smiled at Jason. "See? Nothing went wrong. And we finally got that stupid scanner to work."

Jason sighed. "Yeah, _after_ we got the replacement parts. I still can't believe you got me to go through with that stupid transporter trick. You could have erased yourself from existence if that thing had glitched. Do you know how many safeties we had to disable in order to make sure you came back? And how many more we had to disable to ensure only _one_ of you came back??"

Max put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Jason, Jason, Jason. You forget - when it comes to replicators and transporters, you are in the presence of greatness. My senior thesis on replicator technology is still referred to by the Academy theoreticians."

Jason snorted. "Somehow the fact that some captains and admirals are still shaking their heads over your proposal to replicate replicators in an attempt to create a perpetual supply of production facilities fails to fill me with awe at your technical expertise."

Max chuckled, then paled suddenly and stopped in midstep. Jason halted, concern wiping the smirk off his face. "Are you all right?"

Max shook his head, dazed. "I-I don't know. It seems like I'm forgetting something really important.." He took a deep breath. "Well, it seems to have passed. Let's get down to the courts before the evening crowd books them for the rest of the night. If it's that important, I'm sure it will come back to me."

-----

Ensign Chell grumbled as he fought with Transporter Room One's transporter buffer. Someone had been fiddling inside the control panel but _good_. He couldn't count the number of things rerouted. Ensign Harris had worked with him on it for several minutes before being called away to deal with something in Transporter Room Two. Ensign Gorell had never arrived to help him so he'd started alone, relying on an engineering tricorder and his C+ at the Academy for transporter technology.

Unbeknownst to him, his resequencing tool accidentally bridged two live circuits, setting off the transporters. Chell popped up from underneath the console as he heard the ringing of the transporter beam. "Hey! I'm working on this . . ." He was alone.

Then Lieutenant Davis appeared on the transporter pad. He nodded to Chell. "Yep. Checks good. If you need me for anything else, I'll be in Engineering." Max stepped off the pad and headed out into the corridor.

Chell blinked. Had he accidentally set something off? Or was this a test from one of the other transporter rooms?

He started to call Engineering to verify any transporter tests, but then remembered the last stunt Davis had pulled with his replicator. He'd been forced to show up in Engineering in rose-scented plaid uniforms for a week before Davis had returned his replicator to its original settings.

Yes, this was another of Lieutenant Davis' practical jokes. Well, Chell wasn't buying it this time. Turning back to the console, he returned to his repairs.

Not noticing the transporter was automatically counting down from a 100-second delay.

-----

Commander Jones arrived, checking to see how things were going with the repair. He'd gotten word that someone had fiddled with Transporter One, but had been tied up with other matters. But now he was able to investigate. Recognizing the ensign working on the console, he smiled. "How's it going, Chell?"

Chell looked up, surprised. "Er – fine, Commander."

Jones came around and peered into the open access panel. "Good heavens, Chell. Did you find it this way?"

Chell shook his head. "No, Commander. It was closed up. I was just checking the buffer for routine wear when I saw everything rerouted under the console."

Jones looked at the spaghetti works that passed for wiring by-passes. "Good grief! Who knows what would happen if someone tried to use this." He checked one component in particular. "Well, at least the receiver is disabled. No one can beam in from another location."

Just then, the transporter energized again. Jones and Chell stared at each other in horror for a second, then tried desperately to override the incoming signal. But before they could deflect the signal to another transporter room, Lieutenant Davis appeared on the transporter pad. He nodded to Jones, somewhat surprised to see him there. "Yep. Checks good, boss. If you need me for anything else, I'll be in Engineering." Max stepped off the pad and headed out into the corridor.

Jones blew out a sigh of relief, then looked at Chell. He was surprised to see that the ensign looked horrified. "What's the matter, Chell?"

Chell shook his head. "Lieutenant Davis just transported in here a minute ago. I thought it was a site-to-site test, but there's no way he could've gotten back to Transporter Room Two that quickly!"

Jones looked under the console again. He studied the wiring, then swore under his breath. "That's a feedback loop from the energizers to the buffer!" He disconnected it just as it started another cycle, and the transporter fell silent.

John stood, counted to ten, then slapped his commbadge. "Jones to Davis! Report to transporter Room One _now!_"

Heading toward Engineering, Max spotted Amy working on the holodeck controls. "Getting an early start, eh?"

Amy looked up. "Pardon me?" The engineer thought for a moment. "I suppose you could call it that. We just got out of the maintenance meeting, and this was the first thing on my task list."

Max shook his head. "No, I mean you're on shift awfully early. It's not even 1000. I thought you were on Beta shift."

Amy frowned. "I _am_ on Beta shift. It's almost 1700, Max."

Max blinked. "1700?? No way." He tapped his commbadge. "Computer, what time is it?"

"The time is 1653 _Expeditious_ shipboard time."

Max frowned. "That can't be! I've just gotten started with _my_ shift, and now you say it's over?"

"Please restate the question."

"Oh, never mind." He looked back at Amy. "I-I'm going to my quarters. If anyone needs me, let them know where I've gone. I think I'm going to go lay down for a bit and figure out where the day went. Heck, I'm not even hungry and I haven't eaten since breakfast!"

He headed off, leaving Amy to stare after him for a moment before returning to her work with a wry grin. "That Max - always kidding around." Amy replaced the cover on the holodeck controls and headed back to Engineering to trade out her tools.

-----

Max entered his quarters, tossed his commbadge on the desk, and hopped in the shower.

Just then, his commbadge chirped.

"Jones to Davis! Report to transporter room one _now!_"

Max showered on, oblivious.

-----

Max looked around Engineering, trying to figure things out. Near as he could tell, the Beta shift was just getting started, and almost all of the Alpha shift people were gone. He snagged Amy just as she walked in the door. "Hey, Amy. What's going on? Where's Alpha shift? Was there some sort of training scheduled that I didn't know about?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Give it up, Max. You're not going to rope me in this time. It's 1700 and you know it."

Max blinked. "1700?? No way." He tapped his commbadge. "Computer, what time is it?"

"The time is 1702 _Expeditious_ shipboard time."

Max frowned. "That can't be! I've just gotten started with _my_ shift, and now you say it's over? But I-"

Just then The Lieutenant rounded the corner and spotted them. "Davis! Where's that transporter buffer realignment tool you checked out from me this morning?"

Max paled. _Transporter buffer realignment tool? _ He suddenly remembered where he'd left it. "Err . . . it's right there behind you!" Max pointed to the impulse engine control console.

The Lieutenant turned and scrutinized the console. The missing tool failed to materialize in the indicated location. He turned back to Davis. "If you've lost another tool, I'll . . ."

His rant dribbled off. Davis was nowhere to be seen.

-----

Max scurried down the Jeffries tube in a near-panic. "Oh, _man_! I can't believe I left that thing in the nacelle!! If I don't get it back pronto, The Lieutenant will have me polishing every tool in Engineering!" He raced on.

Just then, his commbadge chirped.

"Jone . . to Da . . Re . . . o tr . . . er roo . . _ow!_"

Max tapped his commbadge. The nacelle warp field was interfering with the comm system. Max frowned. Something was wrong with his commbadge. When he tried to call out, the commbadge simply hummed. Oh, well. As soon as he recovered the tool and returned to Engineering, he could deal with whatever Jones required.

-----

"6-0. Ready to concede, Max?"

Max scowled at Jason. "Not a chance, Jason. I'm feeling my second wind coming on."

Jason chuckled. "Yeah, okay. Well, it had better hurry. If it doesn't start blowing soon, you'll get skunked a _fourth_ time."

On the bench outside the racquetball court, Max's gym bag chirped.

"Jones to Davis! Report to transporter room one _now_!"

The blissfully ignorant engineers played on.

-----

The door chimed. Max stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around himself. He was still feeling a little light-headed, and wasn't quite sure why. Stumbling to the door, he opened it. "Can I help-"

Three security guards snatched him by the shoulders and dragged him off. One flip-flop fell in the door's track, and the door kept opening and closing itself against it.

-----

Max and Jason stepped out of the court and sat down on the bench. Jason laughed. "Skunked again! You ought to take up checkers – you'll never be a racquetball player."

Max sighed. "Maybe. I thought I had you that last game, though."

Jason nodded. "Yeah. Making me do a push-up before I can return your hit made it quite a bit more challenging."

Max sighed. "But still no points for Davis."

"I've got a point for you."

The two engineers turned around, surprised. Three scowling security officers stood there. One of them pointed at Max. "Commander Jones sent us to fetch you. Resist and we fold you into a handy carry-on."

Max swallowed. "The thought never entered my mind."

The quartet departed, leaving Jason to pick up both gym bags.

-----

Max finished putting on the prisoner coveralls that the security officer had given him, then glared at the other Max in his cell. "So let me get this straight. You relooped yourself in the transporter trying to get around a malfunctioning DNA scanner?"

Max nodded glumly, reaching for the towel to wipe the sweat off his brow. His racquetball outfit was soaked with sweat, and he was starting to get chilly. "Yeah. It almost worked, too."

Max gaped. "You telling me you did all this and it _didn't work?!_"

Max shrugged. "It was theoretically possible. Well, at least I thought it was." He frowned. "Actually, I told myself I thought it was possible." His frown deepened. "I think."

Max snorted. "'Think?' I seriously doubt you've been doing much of that."

Max looked up, hurt. "You'd have done the same thing. Heck, you - we - _did!_"

Max crossed his arms. "I refuse to believe that. Apparently I received the lion's share of our common sense in this exchange."

Max thought about that for a moment. "So where did you come from, anyway? I'm fairly certain I never intended for multiple copies of me to be running around, although the possibilities are endless."

Max grinned. "You know, that would be pretty cool. We could re-enact the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy all by ourselves!"

"Dibs on Legolas!" Both Maxes chimed in simultaneously, then laughed.

They chuckled for several moments, then looked at the single bunk, then at each other. Their voices were again in stereo.

"Who gets the bed?"

-----

Max scrambled around on hands and knees. "I _know_ it's here. Where could it be??"

Visions of a confrontation with The Lieutenant swam through his mind. They all ended with Max drowning in a sea of Brasso, his feet weighed down with diagnostic test sets. Max shivered involuntarily.

Then he shoved his hand under a console and brushed up against something familiar. Reaching in, he gripped the handle of the object and pulled it out. It was the missing tool.

Leaping to his feet, he let loose with a victorious whoop.

Or would have, had he not brained himself on a low overhanging vent line. Max went cross-eyed, and collapsed to the deck.

Lieutenant Jerrick of security found him lying on his back, semiconscious, a tool clutched in his fist. Hefting him over one shoulder, he started back to the main fuselage.

Max tried to figure out what was going on. He saw alternating images of maintenance shafts and someone's back. He started to panic. Then he saw the tool still clutched in his fist. He sighed with relief.

_Ahhhhhhhh . . ._

-----

The Maxes looked around. The transporter control console was ripped open, and wires were everywhere. Obviously someone had been working overtime rerigging the device for the reconstitution procedure. Max hoped that whoever had been doing it knew what they were doing.

Max wasn't so sure. He started to edge over to the console. A security officer poked him in the chest. "Where do you think you're going?"

Max smiled weakly. "I just wanted to look over the modifications. Since this involves my molecules, I though I should have a chance to verify the equipment."

The security officer smiled humorlessly. "Aren't you the one who jacked it up in the first place?"

Max smiled. "Well, not technically. I mean, it _was_ me, but it wasn't _me_. You see?"

The guard blinked. "Huh?"

Max sighed. "Never mind."

Jerrick came in with Max #3 and stood him on the transporter pad.

Jones stepped up to the groggy engineer. "Max, just hold there for a bit and give me the tool."

Max clutched the tool to his chest and squinted at the three oscillating chief engineers. "B-but I've got to get this tool back to the tool room or The Lieutenant will kill me!"

Jones sighed. "Don't worry, Max. I'll get it to him. You just stay still!" Returning to the transporter controls, he activated the energizers. Max and Max watched as Max disappeared in a blaze of transporter energy.

Max swallowed, still concerned that he hadn't been allowed to double-check the modifications. "Sure hope he's all right."

Max shook his head. "Did you see the knot on his forehead? I don't envy the headache we're about to have!"

Max sucked air in through his teeth. "Ooooo! I hadn't thought of that."

Jones looked over at the pair. "Okay, Max. Next one into the transporter."

The Maxes looked at each other nervously. "You go ahead."

"No, no. Please. After you."

"No. I insist. After you."

"Oh, please! I couldn't possibly-"

Jerrick stepped between them. "Eenie - meenie - minee - mo, this - idiot - has - got - to - go." He poked Max in his prisoner coveralls.

Racquetball Max grinned. "Losers walk!"

Jerrick guided Max into the chamber, and Jones beamed him into the buffer. Then he looked over at Chell. "I'm heading over to Transporter Room Two to recombine these three. On my signal, send this one as well." That said, Jones departed.

Max looked at Jerrick. "I suppose it's my turn."

The security officer rolled his eyes. "Unless you can produce another Lieutenant Davis for this procedure."

The room was silent for several seconds.

Jerrick grabbed Max by the collar and shoved him onto the transporter pad. "Forget I said that."

Max opened his mouth to reply, but the transporter tingled him away.

Jerrick glared at Chell. "Engineers."

Chell wisely kept silent.

-----

Jones boosted the signal and the unit began to overheat. Max appeared more solid this time, then stared to fade again. Jones gave it one more try and Max finally solidified on the pad.

Max patted himself on the chest, then counted his fingers. "Whew!" Then he rubbed the sizeable bruise on his forehead. "Ow!"

Sickbay techs rushed up and escorted Max off of the platform. Jones stepped next to the antigrav stretcher they were loading Max onto. "Max, are you alright? You got yourself in some hot water with this transporter trick."

Max blinked. "Oh? Deja vu! You know, I had a funny dream about something like that."

Jones scowled. "Well, I'm placing you into the hands of security for lock up in the medical brig until we're certain this is all sorted out."

Max looked like he was in a fog. "Wha? Why am I in trouble? What did I do?"

Jones sighed. "Does tweaking a transporter to work like a replicator so you can store your pattern in the buffer sound familiar?"

Max gaped at Jones. "You had that dream too? Wow! That's creepy!"

Jones was on the verge of losing it. "You idiot! We almost lost you!"

Max giggled at that. "How could you lose me? There were spares all over the place!" He broke out in a laugh.

Max's giggling fit finally subsided. "So what's going to happen now?"

"Well, you're going to be checked out in the medical brig for any sort of molecular damage. After that, we'll see if the captain has anything to say about it."

He sighed, the relief finally hitting him. "Next time find a less bizarre means of making repairs to the ship's systems, all right?"

"No problem." Max tried to shrug, but the restraints on the stretcher immobilized him. He reluctantly settled for an apologetic expression.

Jones turned to one of the security guards. "Ensign, please make sure Max here gets to the medical brig, and let the doctors check him out."

Ensign Clarden nodded. "Not a problem, sir."

Max watched the overhead lighting roll by as he was taken to the nearest turbolift. Once inside, he looked up at the security officer. "How's it going?"

"Better now that we have you back in one piece and in custody. We were running all over the ship looking for one of you."

Max nodded. "Yeah. Sorry about that. You're not exactly catching me at my best."

The guard snorted. "Seeing as how we had to catch three of you, that says quite a bit, doesn't it?"

"Yeah." Max lay there for a moment, sorting that out. "Wait a minute. You mean-"

"Oh, just shut up!"

"Sorry."


	13. Chapter 13a

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Chapter 13**

Dear Mom and Dad,

Well, no doubt you've heard about my recent transporter modifications. All I can say is that despite everyone's complaints, _it worked_! Commander Jones tells me that the fact that I was able to make a transporter do things it was supposedly designed specifically _not_ to do is the only reason I'm not in the brig right now. And my buddy Jason Lambert testified with regards to my intentions when I had made the modifications.

One the other hand, I can unequivocally tell you that three heads are not necessarily better than one. Especially when one of them is sporting a lump the size of a golf ball. Ouch!

Well, we're back on patrol along the Klingon/Tholian border, checking on our outposts. Someone said there's a rogue Klingon Bird-of-Prey raiding shipping lanes out here, but we outgun it three to one. If it shows up, it'll wish it hadn't.

I know, I know. You think the worst. Believe me - I'm through volunteering for things for a while. I don't intend to leave the ship again unless it's blown out from under me.

Your son,

Max

----- -----

The red alert claxon jarred Max away from the results of the plasma injector diagnostic. Patching into the bridge's main viewscreen, Max learned why. Two thousand kilometers off their starboard bow, a Romulan Warbird arced past, firing another volley into the _Expeditious'_ flank. Beyond her, a Klingon B'rel class Bird of Prey drifted lifeless. It appeared the _Expeditious_ was next on the Romulan menu.

The deckplates shook underneath Davis, sending him toppling into his console. Catching himself, he checked his instruments. Portside deflectors were down, and decks 16 through 25 had taken hits.

His eyes widened. Deck twenty had a massive hull breach. The emergency forcefields were holding, but the surrounding superstructure was buckling, and soon the breach would be twice as large. He looked over his shoulder at Peterson. "Take a team to deck twenty! We've got a massive hull breach down there."

Peterson nodded, already grabbing people for the team. Within thirty seconds, she led her team out the door at a run.

Another light went on, and Max grimaced. "Davis to Jones. We've got a fluctuation in the deflector power levels. I'm trying to compensate, but if I can't adapt, our shields will drop for several minutes."

"Keep on it, Davis. Now would be a very bad time to lose shields."

Max nodded. _No kidding._ He cycled through a couple deflector self-checks, then modulated the I/O filter relays. Several warning lights winked out, and he relaxed just a bit.

For the moment, everything was holding together. He prayed it stayed that way.

Then the deck shook violently as another volley from the Romulan warship found its mark. Max saw a cloud of phaser coolant rolling into the main engineering compartment. Engineers fled from the toxic fumes, and Max knew that if he didn't seal it off immediately, half the personnel on the deck would die. Slapping the containment controls, he set the massive door that bisected engineering sliding down. Snatching a respirator from the rack on the bulkhead, he donned it as he raced for the door. Rolling, he just made it before the door closed.

Standing, he looked around. Everyone else had either gotten out of the compartment or grabbed a respirator. "Come on, people! We've got work to do here! The captain is going to need those phasers!"

Max grumbled beneath his respirator as he pried the cover off the phaser coolant tanks and was rewarded with a blinding cloud of phaser coolant. The main feed line was registering a major leak, resulting in a fine mist of the coolant that filled the air. Half the ship's phaser banks were fed by this line, and without it, they were so much decoration. Max squinted, trying unsuccessfully to spot the source of the leak. The swirling mist gave no clue as to where it might be.

Frustrated, he broke out a maintenance tricorder and took several seconds pinning it down to a ruptured seal in the main distribution valve. It was going to have to be replaced, but now was not the time for that.

Brian came up behind him. "What've we got, Max?"

"A blown seal in the distrib valve. We need a quick fix here, and I think I have just the ticket." Max darted past Brian and raced to the tool room. The Lieutenant was throwing on body armor, but stopped when he saw Max skidding into the tool room. Rising to his feet, he reached for the largest wrench Max had ever seen. "Back for more, eh, Davis?" The ship shuddered, sending them both staggering. The Lieutenant eyed Max with renewed concern from behind his own respirator. "What have you done now?"

Max was indignant. "I haven't done anything! We're under attack by the Romulans!"

The Lieutenant's eyes narrowed. "What'd you do - borrow their tools?"

"What? _No!_" Max didn't have time for this. "Look, we've got a phaser coolant leak, and I need some permafoam molds."

The Lieutenant glared suspiciously. "And exactly what are you going to do with them?"

"_I'm going to mold permafoam, you psychopath!!_ Now show me where they are!" Max was microns from losing it.

The Lieutenant nodded, apparently satisfied. "I'll get them. You fill out the paperwork." He tossed a PADD to Max, then disappeared into the back of the tool room.

Max gaped at the PADD. "Paperwork?! But we're under attack!!"

The Lieutenant's voice drifted up from the back room. "Oh, and that's an excuse to just toss the entire tool accountability system out the nearest airlock, eh? I think not."

Max started to argue, then calculated the amount of time it would take to do the paperwork as opposed to the time it would take to successfully change The Lieutenant's mind about something he held as sacred. Unbidden, a formula briefly flickered across his mind for the amount of time saved over the next five years if he threw The Lieutenant out the nearest airlock, but he banished it (with some small regret) and hastily entered all requested data on the PADD.

"What _was_ Grandma's maiden name?"

"9W."

"Utopia Planetia preschool. Fifth out of seven."

"Pineapple and Canadian bacon. And extra cheese."

Max finished the form just as The Lieutenant emerged, several molds in his arms. "Now let's take a look at what you're working on, so I can recommend the proper-_hey!_"

Max had grabbed the entire bundle and dashed out. The Lieutenant picked up the PADD and looked at Max's answers.

"Pineapple," he snorted derisively. "I should have known."

-----

Max returned with the molds, selected one that would encompass the entire valve assembly, then handed it to Baxley. "Buckle this on there as tightly as possible. I'll be right back."

Racing to the nearest replicator, he smacked the controls. "Permafoam, ten liters, premixed. Cold-weather."

The replicator hummed, and foam gushed out of the slot onto the deck and over his foot. Stray wisps of phaser coolant brushed the foam, and it immediately hardened. Max shrieked in frustration as he struggled to remove his foot. Finally he slipped his foot out of his boot and dashed to the next nearest replicator. "Permafoam, ten liters, premixed. Cold-weather. _In a bucket!!_"

The replicator hummed, and Max muscled the heavy bucket out of the replicator tray and dragged it back to the valve. He and Baxley lifted the bucket and poured the mix into the mold. The coolant hardened the permafoam into a solid cocoon around the valve, and the leak was temporarily sealed.

The two engineers breathed a sigh of relief. Removing their masks, they looked at each other with bemused expressions. "Davis, I swear I've never seen anyone with the ability to dream up new ways to fix things."

Max shrugged. "Comes from being the only child of two ship design engineers. You'd be horrified if you knew what goes on at Utopia Planetia on a daily basis."

Baxley spotted Max's left foot, sporting a bright red sock. "And where might your boot be?"

Max opened his mouth to answer when a primal howl of pain laced with fury assailed them. "Argh! What _p'tok_ did this?!"

Max spotted a Klingon officer exchange engineer sitting on the deck, nursing her knee. She'd obviously tripped over the hardened pile of permafoam from the first replicator he had visited. "Who's the dead man?" She looked up and spotted Baxley. "Did you do this?"

Baxley pointed at Max.

Her eyes never left him, though they narrowed considerably.

Baxley looked at Max, only to discover that he was pointing at thin air. Max was nowhere to be seen.

-----

The relay box burst into flames, and Max hurriedly crab walked back out of the Jeffries tube. Leaping to his feet, he raced to the auxiliary junction box, only to watch it slowly start to melt.

Things were getting ugly. Grabbing a fire extinguisher, he sprayed the junction box down, then pulled his shirtsleeve down over his hand and used the glove of opportunity to open the cover. Slagged innards greeted him, along with an acrid odor.

Max slapped his commbadge. "Baxley! We just lost the back-ups! Can you isolate the surge?"

Baxley's voice crackled back at him. "It's not a single surge. It's the draw! We've got so many breaches that the system is destroying itself trying to compensate!"

Max smacked his head on the nearest bulkhead. "Shut down all non-essential systems. We can get a little chilly, but we need air."

"I'm on it. Baxley out."

Max started to head back into the Jeffries tube when a sudden gust of wind yanked at him, sending him tumbling down the passageway. Rolling around a bend, he flattened out, coming to a halt. His eyes bulged as he spotted the source of the wind.

The corridor ended abruptly in a tangle of shredded bulkheads. Beyond, he saw the wheeling starfield. The faint blue glow of the emergency forcefields was flickering in and out. Mostly out.

The wind continued to howl, and Max felt himself being slowly dragged toward the breach. He struggled with all his might to grip the deck, but inch by inch he was losing the fight. Adding to the fun, his ears were popping painfully every couple of seconds as the pressure dropped. His vacuum training brief from the Academy came to mind.

_Commander Grant gave the class a dour look. "In the event of a decompression, your first priority should be to reach a pressurized compartment. Finding breathable air is secondary."_

_Max raised his hand. "Sir, what if you can't get to a pressurized compartment?"_

_"Then I hope you like balloons, Cadet Davis. You'll be imitating one shortly after a complete vacuum is reached."_

Max lifted up abruptly, catching air. As he left the deck, he angled himself toward a door. Flying past, he managed to hook a couple fingers on the doorframe and halt himself. Firming his grip, he pulled himself to the door and braced for the rush of air as the compartment itself decompressed. As soon as the wind started to let up, Max dove into the room and grabbed a table leg. Behind him, the door slid shut and the maelstrom subsided.

Looking around, he oriented himself as he listened to the hissing of air being reinserted into the room through the ventilation system. He was in a storage room filled with plastifoam containers. Tapping his commbadge, he called Baxley. "Hey, Baxley! There's a whopper of a breach on deck fifteen."

"Roger. Rerouting power to the breach. You should be able to leave that maintenance room now."

Max nodded, and was almost out the door when his commbadge chirped.

"All hands, this is the Captain. The _Expeditious'_ life support has just failed. With our last volley, we dropped the Warbird's shields. All able-bodied Starfleet personnel are to arm themselves and report to the nearest Emergency Transporter Rooms for boarding party duty. Civilians and those unfit for duty are to report to the nearest lifeboats and prepare to abandon ship."

Max was out the door in a flash. As he ran, he slapped his badge so hard it hurt. "Baxley! What's going on?!"

"The system just went down hard, Davis. Everything went off-line. All we've got is gravity and emergency lighting. Comm is operating off of reserve batteries, and we've - skkrrrrrrrk." Max's commbadge went dead.

Max sprinted for the nearest transporter room. It made him sick to think he was abandoning the _Expeditious_, but until the Romulans were dealt with, there was no point in trying to repair anything. Bursting into the transporter room, he skidded to a halt. Standing on the transporter pad was The Lieutenant. On four of the other five pads were a variety of tools and tool kits. The Lieutenant grinned at Davis. "Come to get some, eh, Davis? Here."

He tossed a massive rivet gun to Max, who staggered when it hit him in the

chest. Max gawked at the modified riveter. "What's this?"

The Lieutenant winked at him. "It's an anti-personnel riveter. Fires six hundred rivets a minute accurately almost fifty meters. Perfect for boarding actions." He kicked a barrel of rivets over to Max as he stepped onto the last vacant pad. "This'll keep you loaded for a few minutes."

Max shook his head. "But-"

The Lieutenant slapped him on the back, almost knocking him over. "Davis, today we're going to use the right tool for the right job. Stick with me, and you'll be okay!"

"But-"

The Lieutenant frowned at the transporter technician, all business now. "Energize!"

"But-"

And then they were gone.


	14. Chapter 13b

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Chapter 13 (continued)**

Max materialized in total darkness. For a second, he feared that he'd been transported into open space, but the presence of breathable air and a temperature read in Centigrade vice Kelvan convinced him that they were aboard the Romulan warship.

A blinding light suddenly shone in his face, dazzling him. Squinting, he made out The Lieutenant's scowling mug. "Here's a worklight, Davis. Looks like we've got cover of darkness."

"Not anymore," Max muttered, taking the light and strapping it to his forehead. Turning the light on, he looked around.

They had apparently beamed into someone's quarters. A closet door was opened, with several Romulan uniforms hung up neatly. Max grimaced. The Romulans wore quilts for uniforms? No wonder they were always feisty. S'rel and N'var had been far more fashionably dressed.

A meaty hand on his shoulder brought his attention back to their situation. "Davis, we've got to take out their deflectors and weapons."

Davis frowned. "How do you know that?"

"A little voice told me." The Lieutenant favored him with a look that dared him to question the answer.

Max questioned the answer. "A 'little voice'? Are you kidding me??"

The Lieutenant snarled, "You callin' me a liar?!" His grip on his AP riveter shifted not-so-subtly.

Max backpedaled. "Whoa! Hey! Whatever you say, Lieutenant!"

"Good. Then let's get this gear loaded." The Lieutenant loaded the ammo and extra tools onto an antigrav sled. Max struggled to lift his can of rivets onto the lift. After a minute, the Lieutenant was finished. He reached over and took the can from the struggling engineer and set in on the sled. "Pineapple on your pizza. No wonder you're weak as a kitten!"

Max started to open his mouth to protest when he realized that The Lieutenant had lifted the rivet can from him with _one_ hand. "Uh, yeah. Sure, Lieutenant."

The door opened, and an inspection mirror stuck out into the passageway. After a minute, there was a muffled curse, and Max's headlamp poked out into the passageway as well, illuminating the pitch-black corridor. Thankfully, it was deserted.

Max was baffled. "Wonder what happened to the lights. Even the emergency lighting is out."

The Lieutenant grinned. "The _Exped's_ security teams probably got 'em. Get some, boys."

Before Max could reply, The Lieutenant eased the sled out into the corridor. He started down toward the more distant end. Max padded along behind him, covering their six.

Several turns later, The Lieutenant stopped short. Max, who was walking backwards, bumped into him. With a shout, Max whipped around firing. The Lieutenant grabbed his barrel and held it up. "Davis! Cease Fire! It's me!"

Max released the trigger he'd squeezed reflexively. "Sorry! I-"

The Lieutenant made a shushing motion, then pointed. Max looked back down the corridor, noticing the row of rivets embedded in the bulkhead where he'd accidentally fired. There was a break in the row where a door that had been closed now stood open. As they watched, a Romulan with a disruptor pistol in his hand and a rivet in his forehead fell out of the doorway and collapsed on the deck.

Max gaped at the body in horror. "Is he . . . ?"

"Dead as a doornail, Davis! Nice shooting!" The Lieutenant slapped Max on the back. "And you doubted old Gertrude could perform." Before Max could form a suitable reply, The Lieutenant nodded and said "Uh, huh. Right."

"What? I didn't say anything."

The Lieutenant shushed him, then continued talking to thin air. "Yeah. Okay. That's right. I think we're on deck fifteen. That's two decks down."

Max stared at The Lieutenant in horror. The man had finally lost it.

The Lieutenant nodded. "Aye, sir. You can count on us."

He turned to Max. "We need to get two decks down to Auxiliary Control. It'll be guarded, but we can flank 'em!"

Max shook his head. "What are you _talking_ about?! We're engineers! We can't go storming around in the dark looking for trouble!"

The Lieutenant scowled. "We're Starfleet officers, Davis. Our duty is to defend the Federation. By any means necessary."

Max thought about that. When he'd heard that in the Academy, it had carried a deep emotional message. Now, standing on a darkened Romulan Warbird next to an insane man taking orders from imaginary people while holding a fully automatic rivetgun, he felt an entirely different set of emotions being inspired.

The Lieutenant looked around, then grinned at him suddenly. Pulling a fire axe from the sled, he took a step toward Max. "You know, Davis. I think it's time we buried the hatchet."

Max staggered backward, bumping into the wall. He watched in terror as The Lieutenant lifted the axe over his head and brought it down -

- A foot to Max's left. Max looked at the hole as The Lieutenant struck the bulkhead a second and third time. "What are you doing?"

The Lieutenant smiled. "There should be an access tunnel behind this bulkhead. If we can get into their maintenance tunnel network, we can get to their Aux Con without them seeing us."

Max nodded. "And we could even use that maintenance hatch." He pointed to the access cover three meters to their left.

The Lieutenant froze in mid-stroke. "Yeah. I suppose that would work, too."

The two men pried open the cover and guided the sled into the recesses of the maintenance tube. It was slightly more cramped than the Jeffries tubes on the _Expeditious_, but still workable.

The Lieutenant stopped again and stared off into space. "We're on our way, sir. We made it into the maintenance tunnels."

Max shook his head in exasperation. "Who are you talking to?"

The Lieutenant frowned at him, annoyed at the interruption. "Commander Jones. Now shut up!"

Max was flabbergasted. "Commander Jones is in your head?!"

The Lieutenant rolled his eyes. "No, he's in my ear." He turned and pointed to the side of his head. Max spotted the tactical communicator in The Lieutenant's ear.

"Oh."

-----

Luck was not with the intrepid duo that afternoon. The maintenance tunnel network on the Warbird wasn't nearly as interconnected as it was on Federation vessels. Max and The Lieutenant had been forced to abandon the network in favor of a more conventional route. Unfortunately this brought them in contact with the ship's crew.

The Lieutenant dashed across the intersecting passageway, pausing to send a shower of rivets ricocheting down the corridor. Three Romulans ducked back into the turbolift they were trying to exit. Several rivets slammed into the turbolift doors, effectively sealing them.

The Lieutenant checked for activity with his inspection mirror, spotting only the lone casualty. Nodding in satisfaction, he looked back to where Max was waiting. "We're clear, kid. Now let's blow this thing so we can all go home!"

Max grinned as he shoved the antigrav sled across the passageway to join The Lieutenant. "Han Solo! Star Wars! Earth year 1977!"

"That's right!" The Lieutenant beamed. "Caught it on the 2D cinematic archives marathon last week."

The two men paused, realizing they had something in common. There was

a long and uncomfortable silence.

Fortunately for them both a squad of Romulans rounded a corner and broke the awkward silence with a hail of disruptor fire.

"Yikes!" Max dove around the corner, then smacked his palm on his forehead. Lying on the deck right by the sled was his AP riveter.

The Lieutenant favored him with a baleful eye from the other side of the corridor intersection. "Tool accountability, Davis! You'll never finish a job leaving your tools lying around!" He pulled a socket set out of a belt pouch, grabbed several of the metric sockets, and rolled them down the corridor. Seconds later, there was a blinding flash and screams of pain.

Max looked up at The Lieutenant, his eyebrow cocked in Vulcan fashion.

The Lieutenant grinned. "Incendiary sockets. Should blind even those double-eyelidded devils for a few seconds."

Max started to round the corner to retrieve his rivetgun when several disruptor shots flashed past. Most of them were off by over two meters, but one singed the hair on the back of his hand.

Apparently the Romulans had decided to make up for accuracy of fire with volume.

Max reached out and snagged the sled, dragging it around the corner. Building a five-foot rod out of a speed handle and seven 6-inch 3/8 extensions, he managed to hook the rivetgun and drag it within reach.

The Lieutenant was poking his weapon around the corner, squeezing off a

string of rivets. "They're getting their sight back, Davis. You gonna help or what?"

Max closed his eyes and rolled out into the corridor, letting loose with a volley of rivets. He heard the whanging sound of rivets embedding themselves in bulkheads. It went on for an eternity.

Pap-pap-pap-pap-click-click-click. Max was out of rivets.

Everything was silent, and after a second, he risked opening one eye.

Nine Romulans lay dead about twenty meters away, their bodies riddled with holes. The far bulkhead looked like it was suffering the most severe case of warts anyone had ever seen.

The Lieutenant nodded, satisfied. "I think you got 'em, Davis."

Max stood numbly as he reloaded. It was awful. Looking at the puddles of green blood, he set his rivetgun down on the deck. "I can't do this."

"Sure you can. Just look at those guys. You're a natural." The Lieutenant finished reloading his rivetgun. "I've seen asteroids with fewer craters."

Then he looked hard at Max. "Ohhhhh. You mean you don't have the heart to kill these Rommies, even though they're trying to kill you."

Max shrugged. "I - well, when you put it that way it sounds pretty stupid."

The Lieutenant nodded. "That's 'cuz it _is_ stupid, Davis. If you don't fight, they're gonna kill you. And me. And everyone else. Now come on. We've got deflectors to sabotage." With that, The Lieutenant turned and headed toward the corridor they had been aiming for when they had been ambushed.

Max stared at the rivetgun on the deck at his feet. With a heavy heart, he picked it up and turned to follow The Lieutenant.

-----

They reached another turbolift and rode it down to the deck where Auxiliary Control was rumored to lurk. The doors slid open, and Max and the Lieutenant ducked as disruptor fire slammed into the aft bulkhead. Max slapped the turbolift controls, desperately trying to close the doors. After a second's delay, they slid shut and the turbolift began descending another deck. "Whew! That was close!"

Silence was the only response. Max looked around. The Lieutenant was gone.

"_AAAAAAAHH!!!_" Max beat on the turbolift controls, willing it back up to the deck where they had been attacked. The Lieutenant must have dived out of the lift and counterattacked!

_Seems he might have invited me along!_

The doors opened again, and Max peered out. The corridor was deserted, but well-riveted. The Lieutenant had definitely been here.

Shouts and sounds of fighting suddenly caught his attention, and Max jogged up to the bend in the corridor. The Lieutenant was on the deck, pinned by several Romulans. His rivetgun lay on the deck, its ammo expended. The Lieutenant was struggling for all he was worth, but it was obvious he was beaten. He started yelling at the top of his lungs. "Never give up! Never surrender!"

Max knew if he tried to help The Lieutenant, he'd end up a prisoner as well. Or worse.

_Never give up. Never surrender._

Max retreated to the turbolift and retrieved the sled. Using an extension cord, Max lashed it to his waist and towed it as he headed down another corridor. If The Lieutenant had been right, their target was on this deck.

Using the inspection mirror, he peered around several corners, discovering nothing of interest until he found one that had a door. The door wasn't unique. Every corridor had several. But none of them had two armed guards. Now this was promising.

Of course, there _were_ the two guards to deal with. Max looked the sled over, and was shocked to realize that they were out of rivets. He had maybe fifteen more in his rivetgun. Unless he found another surprise in The Lieutenant's bag of tricks, his life was going to be short and unpleasant.

Max looked the sled over more carefully, then grinned evilly. The Lieutenant had apparently thought of everything.

-----

The centurion sighed, angry at being posted to defend auxiliary control. The glory was being seized by the hunter teams being sent out after the Klingon and Federation invaders. He had once been a guard of the Praetor himself, and now he was guarding a door. His ears tinted green with shame.

Just then a lone human rounded the corner and started shouting at them.

His rifle popped to his shoulder and he aimed reflexively. His finger almost depressed the firing stud when he realized that the human was probably harmless and obviously insane.

Max stood there with a three-foot crowbar in his hand and blue sealant compound smeared across his face in vertical stripes. He shook the crowbar at the centurion, shouted "Freeee-dom!!" then he darted back out of sight.

The Romulan looked at his fellow guard, and then both centurions ran to pursue the madman. When they rounded the corner, their feet shot out from under them and they hit the deck hard, their weapons flying. Slipping across a freshly greased deck, they slid into an open room.

Max slapped the door controls and the door slid shut. Max fired five rivets in the door to keep it from opening, then put the rivetgun on the sled, grabbed one of the dropped disruptor rifles, and pushed the sled to the door to Auxiliary Control. Grabbing a handful of sockets, he keyed the door open and hurled the sockets inside. Counting to five, he braced himself to charge in.

_Five. Six. Seven? Eight??_

Max risked a peek through the open door. Several Romulans were staring at the sockets on the deck. One subcommander had picked up one of the sockets and was examining it, mystified.

Max groaned. _Wrong sockets_. Firing three bursts into the ceiling, he stepped into the room. "All right! Everybody freeze! Everybody on the ground!"

No one moved.

Finally the Romulan commander spoke. "Well, human? Which is it?"

"Huh?" was Max's clever reply.

The Romulan sighed. "Do you want us to 'freeze' or do you want us to get on the ground?"

"What?" Now Max was mystified. "What are you talking about!?"

The Romulan sighed again, obviously struggling to be patient with this armed fool. "If we 'freeze' as you so adroitly put it, we cannot get on the ground. And if we get down, we will be in motion. Not to mentio-"

"_Shut up_!!" Max couldn't believe he was having this conversation. "Just get on the ground, okay??"

The Romulans started to drop down on their bellies. The commander managed a wounded look. "Technically speaking, this is a deck, not the ground."

Max had heard enough. "You want to be nailed to that deck? I've got a rivetgun, and I know how to use it!!" He was slightly embarrassed to hear the almost hysterical screech his voice was taking on, but at least the Romulans were finally complying. Perhaps the uncertainty of dealing with a blue-faced Starfleet officer with an obvious mental imbalance was encouraging them toward a more cautious approach to dealing with this madman.

The Romulan was wisely silent. Max walked around, removing disruptor pistols from belts. Nudging one of the Romulans, he nodded to the sled waiting just inside the door. "Go get some wire and tie everybody up. I'll be inspecting the knots, and if they look weak, you'll be the first one to know about it." He followed the Romulan to the sled, then picked up the rivetgun with his left hand.

The commander's eyes widened, and Max grinned. "No. Not yet. Hopefully never." He slammed several rivets into the doorframe, jamming the door. He watched as the Romulan tied his fellow officers hands behind their backs. Looking at the bindings, he was satisfied that the Romulans were secured. When the Romulan finished, he looked up at Max with open contempt. "Now what, Starfleet? Are you going to kill me?"

Max smiled. "Only if you don't eat your marshmallows."

The Romulan looked confused. "My _what_?"

"Marshmallows. That Lieutenant is really on the ball." Max tossed a large pack of jumbo marshmallows to the Romulan. "Bon appetit!"

The Romulan blanched. "You want me to eat poison? Just shoot me and be done with it!"

Max laughed. "Poison? Perish the thought! Look!" Max took another bag, opened it, and popped a marshmallow into his mouth. "It's a Terran tradition to share marshmallows with your prisoners. It's a symbol of my intent to treat you honorably as prisoners."

The Romulan reluctantly tasted one. His expression softened. "It's . . . not unpleasant."

Max shrugged. "Of course not. It's a sign of goodwill. I doubt it would carry much significance if they were nasty. Now share them with everybody. It's not valid unless everyone has at least twenty."

The Romulan shared the marshmallows with his fellow officers. Most accepted them with trepidation at first, but by the fifth one they were almost clamoring for the confectionaries.

Max nibbled on another one and smiled. The Lieutenant had obviously known about the intoxicating effects of sugar on Vulcans and realized that the Romulans would also be susceptible.

After the marshmallows were all consumed, Max walked over and sat next to the commander. The Romulan looked over at him with a silly grin, the sugar hitting him like a fifth of vodka. Max smiled his most winning smile. "You know, you've got a really nice set-up here. Care to show me how some of it works?"


	15. Chapter 13c

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Chapter 13 (continued)**

Fifteen minutes later, Max chuckled as the Romulans started singing some fighting song. "No, c'mon guys. Just show me how to get into the system and I'll take it from there. Don't you _want_ the recipe for marshmallows in your replicator system?"

The Romulans were too far gone to care. "Subcommander Vek was a mighty warrior - he loaded plasma torpedoes by hand!"

"Guys?"

The singing only increased in volume and deviance from pitch. "At the battle of Narendra Seven Subcommander Vek chose to make his stand!"

"Oh, never mind. I'll figure it out myself!" Max sat down at the nearest terminal and started poking around with the screen controls. He was surprised to actually call up a command subroutine, although it was in Romulan. Smiling, he thought back to his basic Romulan course.

His smile faltered. He'd failed that one, and ended up taking a Ferengi economics class instead.

_Ah, well. What could go wrong?_

Max tapped in a few commands, bringing him to another screen. He made a few changes to the data on the screen and sat back with a grin. "Now _that _oughta grind their gears a little bit."

A computerized voice boomed from the ceiling speakers. "Self destruct sequence engaged. Evacuate the ship. Detonation in five minutes."

Max fell over backwards. "_What?!_" If Amy ever found out what he'd done, he'd never live it down.

The computer was silent. Apparently it was able to differentiate between a valid query and a panicky squawk.

Max leapt to his feet and started tapping madly at the terminal. "C'mon, _c'mon!_ We're running out of ships to run around on. If I blow _this _one up, the captain will skin me alive!"

He looked over at the singing Romulan prisoners. "Hey! How do you shut this thing off?"

"Subcommander Vek had a mighty sianna - he rode it through the Warbird's halls."

Just then, the door blew inward and several angry Klingons surged into the room. "You are prisoners of the Klingon Empire! Surrender this vessel and we shall give you quick deaths!"

"Subcommander Vek had a mighty stable - it had a lot of roomy stalls."

The lead Klingon pointed his pistol at the nearest Romulan. "You will answer me or I will scatter your atoms all over the room!"

Max darted across the room, waving his hands. "Wait! You can't hold him responsible – he's drunk! They're all drunk!"

The Klingon shifted his aim from the subcommander to Max. "So you would have me spare them?"

Max nodded, not at all pleased with the Klingon's new choice of target. "Well, yeah!"

The Klingon's eyes narrowed. "Then you are their ally! Surrender _your _weapons!"

Max pointed to the disruptor and the rivetgun lying where he'd left them on the deck. "They're right over there, pal. But we've got bigger fish to fry. This ship is-"

"Shut your Starfleet sewer! I take no advice from the likes of you!" Turning to his men he shouted, "Destroy everything and take these prisoners with you. We seek the main bridge!"

Max's eyes bulged. "But you don't understand! We need these terminals-"

Explosions erupted across the room as the Klingons fired several disruptor bursts into each terminal. Max's shoulders slumped, "-to deactivate the self-destruct."

The Klingon grabbed Max by the front of his tunic and slammed him against a bulkhead. "_What?!_ Who did this!?"

Max shrugged. "I'm not sure exactly how it happened. I was trying to deactivate it." At least that was partially true.

The Klingon thought for a moment, then let out a thunderous laugh. "Well then. Today _is_ a good day to die!"

He turned to his men. "Let's go! We fight for the best seats in the dining hall of Sto-Vo-Kor!"

The Klingons seized the Romulans and pulled them to their feet. The Romulans staggered into a crooked line and kept belting out their song. The leader of the Klingons shoved Max toward the door. "Lead on, Starfleet! Show me where your allies keep their bridge."

The strange group tromped along deserted passageway after deserted passageway. Max stumbled as he was shoved for the nth time. "Hey! I'm walking as fast as you are. What's the deal?"

The Klingon behind him just grinned.

Ahead of them, the Klingons were herding the sozzled Romulans down another passageway. The Romulans had just finished the fiftieth and final verse of 'Subcommander Vek', and were starting over again. The leader of the Klingon boarding party shouted at them to stop, but they became louder instead.

The Klingon stomped back to where Max was staggering and snatched a handful of his hair. "Tell your allies that they won't be able to sing with slit throats!"

Max yelped in pain. "They won't listen to me! I was trying to get them to shut up when you arrived. And if I'm their ally, why did I have them all tied up?"

The Klingon frowned. "A ruse! A clever ruse!" He waved his serrated knife under Max's nose. "I suggest that you find a way to make them shut up, or I'll kill them all."

Max jogged until he was next to the leader of the Romulans. "Subcommander! If you don't stop singing, the Klingons will kill all of you."

The Romulan giggled. "Bah! They haven't the power! This song is immortal, and while we sing it, so are we!" He raised his voice and joined in with the rest of his officers. "Subcommander Vek ate a mighty breakfast - ten grik eggs and Romulan ale."

Max thought for a moment. "No more marshmallows."

"Subcommander Vek slept on - what?" The Romulan's smile disappeared as he turned and attempted to focus on Max. "What did you say?"

Max shook his head. "No more marshmallows. Not a single one."

"_Stop!!_ The song is ended!" The Romulans looked back at their pale subcommander quizzically, but they complied.

The Klingon pulled Max back by the hair, eliciting another yelp. "You negotiate well with these vermin. When we take the bridge, you will negotiate their surrender."

Max managed a weak smile. "Oh, goody. What are the terms?"

The Klingon looked at him sharply. "They will surrender immediately."

Max nodded. "Right. I got that part. But in exchange, you will offer them . . . ?"

The Klingon looked at him, uncomprehending. "Offer them . . . ? Offer them what?"

Max sighed. "Oh, I don't know. Safe passage to their homeworld? Piles of latinum? Their _lives_, perhaps?!"

The Klingon shook his head. "No, nothing like that. They will simply surrender."

Max held his temples. This was really turning out to be a bad day.

Suddenly there was an announcement that the self-destruct had been deactivated. Apparently someone else had managed to shut the blasted thing off in time. Max breathed a sigh of relief. He noticed with hidden satisfaction that the Klingons also seemed relieved.

Three minutes later, they were looking up at a secured hatch in the ceiling of the passageway. The Klingon checked an electronic layout of the Warbird. "That leads to the Main Bridge, Starfleet. Open it and demand their surrender."

Max blanched. "Are you crazy! They'll blow my head off before I get a single word out!"

The Klingon shrugged. "Then you'd better talk quickly." Max looked at the hatch and noticed that the Klingons had placed several small shaped charges on the hatch hinges, and one large charge on the center of the heavy hatch. Then he was dragged back around the corner with everyone else. Seconds later, there was a massive explosion that rocked the deck. Two Klingons grabbed Max by the arms and dragged him through the smoke to the now blown hatch. Lifting him up, they stuffed his head through the jagged hole. Somehow he avoided any major lacerations.

Max's eyes were shut tight. He didn't want to see it coming.

"_PleasedontshootmeI'!"_

"Lieutenant Davis?"

Max popped one eye open, shocked by the familiar voice. The sight of the barrel of Torah's rifle, not an inch from his face, also shocked him. Looking past it, he spotted the captain staring at him. He started to open his mouth to say how relieved he was to find _Expeditious_ crew on the bridge and not the Romulans he'd been expecting, but he was suddenly yanked back into the passageway.

The leader of the Klingons stuffed his disruptor barrel up Max's left nostril. "Well? I see they didn't kill you. You _are_ allied with them!"

Max shook his head. "No! You don't understand! That's _my_ crew in there!"

"So! You go so far as to claim kinship with these green-blooded dogs?!"

Max blinked. "What? _No!!_ My crew from the _Expeditious_! Starfleet officers! They've captured the bridge!"

The Klingon's eyes narrowed. "You lie poorly, Starfleet. Now tell those Romulan scum that if they don't surrender immediately, we'll gut them one by one."

"But-" Max was cut off before he could finish as the two Klingons holding his arms dragged him back to the hatch and poked his head through again. Max smiled weakly at the captain. "Sir. They insist that you surrender the bridge. Now."

Armus grinned. "Davis, I want you to tell that Klingon peacock that I want a sincere apology for his unprofessional behavior."

Max's eyes bugged out. "_What?_"

Armus winked at him. "Just do it. Buy us a few seconds."

"But-" Max was cut off again as the Klingons yanked him back into the corridor. A second later, Max's right nostril was comparing notes with his left on just how unpleasant the serrated edge of a Klingon disruptor pistol felt while lodged inside said nostrils.

"Well?"

"Err . . . uh . . ." Max stalled, partly because he was trying to figure out a diplomatic way to convey the captain's orders, and partially because imminent death had proven itself to be quite a distracter for him in the past. "The captain wants an apology."

"A _what!?_"

"An apolog-_ow_!" Max was certain the Klingon was trying to use the barrel of his disruptor to take a brain tissue sample.

"An _apology!?!_" The Klingon was almost wild-eyed. "How _dare_ he! I'll disembowel him with my bare hands!"

"_Freeze!_ Drop your weapons!"

The Klingons looked about in surprise. Torah and several of his security officers were aiming in from several air vents. They'd used Max's distraction to crawl into position for an ambush of the Kingon raiding party. "All of you, on the deck _now!_"

The Romulans, who had been quiet drunks up to this point, looked up in surprise. The subcommander opened his mouth to request a clarification on the apparent contrdiction, then spotted Max waving him off and wisely piped down.

The Klingons responded in true fashion, firing weapons and charging toward the vents.

Max huddled down next to the Romulan prisoners during the firefight. "Keep down!!"

The subcommander arched an eyebrow at him. "We're sitting on the deck. How much lower can we get?"

A stray shot singed the hair on the subcommander's head. Immediately he dropped prone. Max dropped next to him. "About that low. But only if you can't get any lower."

The subcommander smiled at Max, still three sheets to the wind. "I like you, Starfleet. You're not what I envisioned in a Starfleet officer."

Max nodded in agreement. "You're telling me."

The fight was over in a few seconds. The Klingons fought to the last man, never realizing they were battling potential allies. Had they known that they were only being stunned, they would have fought even harder.

Torah nudged Max with the toe of his boot. "You all right?"

Max nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Torah had his men round up the Romulans and herded them off to a storage room they had set aside for captured personnel. The Romulans looked back at Max, confused.

Max called after them. "Give them marshmallows and they won't give you any trouble!"

Torah looked at Max with a puzzled expression. "'Marshmallows'?"

"Yeah. The sugar affects them like alcohol. These guys are lit." Max grinned. "Just don't let them start singing."

It was at that precise moment that the opening verse to 'Subcommander Vek' echoed back from the corridor the Marines had escorted the Romulans.

Max shrugged. "Ah. Well, it's only fifty verses. Good luck, and thanks." Turning, he headed into the bridge.

Entering the bridge, he spotted Jones. "Sir! What needs to be done?"

Jones rose from the engineering console. "Keep in contact with Peterson and direct her team to transporter room five, then from there to the junction in the maintenance tunnel where they can access the power and computer lines to the secondary bridge. We're going to head down to the main disruptor control room." He and several other officers headed for the door.

"Okay sir, and good luck," Max replied. He watched them go. Then he turned to the Romulan console. More Romulan. Hmmmm . . . didn't this button say . . .

The Voice of Reason echoed a resounding 'STOP THAT' through Max's skull and he snatched his hand away from the console. Instead, he borrowed a padd from another officer and started legitimately translating the console's labels. Soon he had the Warbird's schematic on the display. He highlighted several areas and contacted Peterson on his now-functioning commbadge. "Davis to Peterson. How's it going, Amy?"

"Max? Where are you?"

"I'm on the bridge. Commander Jones told me to guide you to transporter room five."

"Been there and done that. What does he want us to do now?"

Max turned to ask Jones, but remembered that the Chief Engineer had departed.

Max thought for a moment, then tapped his badge again. "Uhh . . . break stuff and keep from getting shot."

"_What!?_"

Max was getting tired of being yelled at by angry people. That she wasn't jamming a weapon up his nose was a small consolation, however. "The commander left the bridge. He didn't have anything beyond cutting the aux con power lines for you."

Max studied the readout. "There _is_ an interesting target of opportunity near you though. Two decks down is a major power distribution relay box. Destroy it and you'll cut off power and communications to half the ship. Care to give it a go?"

-----

Max sat at the tactical console of a deserted security office, padd in hand. He scanned through the padd's text furiously, translating the console's Romulan into something more reliable. A hand phaser sat within arm's reach, a gift from one of the Marines that had escorted (dragged, really) him to this room to get him out of the way.

He doubted he would be able to reactivate the self-destruct even accidentally, but he was making sure this time that nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he was curious as to what sort of automatic security measures he might be able to activate to assist in the _Expeditious_ defense.

It didn't look good. Everything required a security code, and he simply didn't have the time to even attempt cracking through Romulan encryption using a padd translator program as a cipher.

Instead, he looked for low-level access programs. Anything that might be of assistance.

He found a series of security cameras that were not listed among the regular security net. "Now why aren't these part of the security net? They almost look like they were just patched in."

Max activated camera X1, then studied the display. It appeared to be a crewman's quarters. Cameras X2, X3, and X4 were also views of personnel quarters. Max was puzzled. "Now why would they have these on a different channel than the regular cameras? If they snoop on each other for security reasons, they should keep these cameras accessed with the others."

Camera X6 was of a common bathroom/shower facility. Probably for the lower

ranking enlisted personnel. Max was even more mystified now. "Why the deuce would they monitor the showers?"

Then it hit him. No urinals. Only toilets. It was a female common shower/bathroom.

Max deactivated the camera, embarrassed. Apparently the original user of this console had a voyeuristic streak and the means to pursue it.

Moving on, Max cycled through several more cameras, then found something that caught his attention. Cameras X23-X30 were mounted in the maintenance tube network that he and The Lieutenant had tried to use to get to the Auxiliary Bridge.

There were dozens of armed Romulans crawling through them, grim determination on their faces.

Max slapped his commbadge. "Davis to security! We've got Romulans in the maintenance tubes! Lots of them!"

The warning came too late. Already, scores of Romulans were dropping out of vents and access hatches all around the _Expeditious_ crew, firing madly in an attempt to clear the hatches before being hit. Battles erupted all across the forward section of deck twenty-nine.

Max grabbed his phaser even as he heard a scuffling sound in the air vent above him. Looking up, he saw eyes peering down at him from behind the grill covering the air vent. "Oh, nuts!"

Max rolled out of the seat, firing up into the vent as a disruptor beam seared through the grating and set fire to the chair he'd just vacated. His shot hit the ceiling just to the left of the vent, burning through. A howl of pain told him that he'd managed a lucky shot. Three more disruptor beams told him that he needed more luck or faster feet.

Max had experienced too many bad things on the _Expeditious_ to trust his luck. Turning, he bolted from the office.

The corridor was no better. Phaser beams and disruptor bursts criss-crossed in front of him, and he drew up short. Then two disruptor beams flashed past his ears and seared the door across the passageway. Gritting his teeth, Max dove for the door and prayed that its motion detectors weren't malfunctioning. Fortunately for him, they were working perfectly and the door slid open obediently. He rolled into the empty room, leapt to his feet and slammed against the door controls, closing and locking them.

"Holy cow, that was close!" He looked around, hoping he'd managed to tumble into an armory or something. Instead, he was in another set of quarters. He spotted the air vent and aimed in on it. Advancing slowly, he listened, trying to filter out the noise from the battle outside.

Nothing. If there were any Romulans in this air vent, they were being exceptionally quiet. Max grabbed a chair from the desk and smashed it, finally wrestling one of the metal legs loose. Using the jagged end, he pried the cover loose, then crawled inside.

Despite everything, he smiled. It almost seemed like he spent more time in these maintenance tubes than out of them. If he lived to retire, he was probably going to have the Habitrail people build a human-sized hamster cage for him, complete with cedar chips.

But there was too much to do. Much as he wanted to simply find a place to cower until the battle was over, he knew his crewmates were fighting for their lives. His sorry marksmanship skills were not going to tip the balance in straight fighting, but perhaps he had other skills that could help out.

There weren't any good systems to sabotage. The efforts of the _Expeditious _crew had already reduced the once-proud Warbird to a floating barge. And with the bulk of the Romulan crew in knife-fighting range with the Exped crew, opening airlocks as a strategy was out.

But there _were_ all these power distribution nodes. Maybe they could be detonated at key moments . . .

Max examined one, only to find it already destroyed. Apparently someone else had already had that idea some time ago.

Max froze. He heard and felt a rhythmic thumping in the deck plates under his hands and knees. Someone was coming.

He looked around the corner at a passage that headed aft, and spotted several Romulans coming his way. They spotted him, and opened fire, nearly taking Max's head off before he could duck back.

Turning around, he scurried back the way he'd come. When he got to the next intersection, he took a left, then set up to shoot the first Romulan to come in view.

He heard them approaching, their breathing interrupted by terse orders in the Romulan tongue. Max only knew a smattering of Romulan, but the 'no prisoners' phrase was one of them. He felt a sick feeling in his gut when he heard it.

The first Romulan poked his head around the corner, but fortunately for Max, he looked right instead of left. Max shot him at point-blank range, stunning him. Behind him, there were angry shouts as the Romulans following tried to move their comrade out of the way. Max slid back a couple feet, then checked his phaser.

The charge was depleted. Max would've been lucky to reheat a burrito with it.

_Oh great._

Max turned and scuttled down the tube, trying hard to reach a bend before the Romulans pushed past the stunned crewman and sighted in on him. Finding another passage, he dove into it just as disruptors lashed past him.

He'd scrambled into a dead end. The vent terminated into a blower. There was no way he was going to get past that.

He heard the approaching Romulans, and decided that now was as good a time as any for a quick prayer.

"Ya-HAAAA!"

Thuk-thuk-thuk-thuk-thuk!

WHANG! Bewooong! TZING! Tang-tang-tang-tang!

Green blood splattered onto the deck next to Max. Amazed, he pulled his inspection mirror out and peered around the corner. He gaped at what he saw.

"Lieutenant?!"

The Lieutenant frowned back at his mirror. "Davis?!"

Max poked his head out. Four Romulans lay in the tunnel, their bodies riddled with rivets. The Lieutenant was smiling as he fed a new rivetbelt into his riveter. Max edged past the corpses to join him. "How did you get away from the Romulans?"

"Piece of cake, Davis! They tied me up, but they forgot to search me. Had a jeweler's screwdriver tucked up my sleeve. Soon as they left to attack the _Exped's_ crew, I sawed through my bonds, grabbed the riveter, and escaped. Lucky for me, I found the tool sled right where you left it." He pointed back behind him, where the sled hovered patiently. "Opened up the access cover and retrieved the extra bandoliers I socked away in there."

Despite his joy at a debatably friendly face, Max was irritated. "Extra bandoliers. I can think of a couple times when those might have come in handy."

The Lieutenant continued, oblivious. "Been creeping around these passageways trying to find you ever since. I saw the damage you did to the Auxiliary bridge. Nice going."

"Well, actually that was the Kli-"

"Once I saw that wreckage, I decided that my mission was to link up with the _Exped_ crew. And here I am." The Lieutenant beamed.

He looked at Max, and his smile froze. "Davis?"

Max shuddered at The Lieutenant's suddenly cold tone. "Yes?"

"Where is your riveter?"

There was a long silence in the maintenance tubes.

Fortunately for Max, an explosion and a series of shouts distracted The Lieutenant and he crawled past Max, heading for the source of the noise. Max grabbed the rope that The Lieutenant had been using to drag the sled and started after him.

The two men came up to a fierce battle in a passageway. A massive Starfleet security officer was fighting his way through a squad of Romulans with his bare hands. Max had never seen anything like it.

Well, maybe in Conan VIII, but that had been a box office bomb. This was far more impressive.

The Lieutenant kicked the access cover, sending it clattering to the deck. Sliding out, he dropped to one knee and sighted in on the nearest Romulan. "Geromino!!"

Max dropped down behind him, several of the incendiary sockets clutched in his fists. He hurled two of them at the Romulans that were just rounding the other corner. "Hi-ho, Silver! _Awaaaay!_"

Rivets and shrapnel flew everywhere.

-----

Max and The Lieutenant fought hard, cleaning up any survivors left behind by the berserk security officer and covering his back. Max threw his last socket and looked back at The Lieutenant. "I'm out! Got anything for me?"

The Lieutenant shook his head. "Just fired my last rivet. It's hand-to-hand, Davis! Here!"

Max looked at the spanner wrench The Lieutenant had handed him. "But-but this is-"

"Charlotte, I know. Treat her right, and she'll keep you alive!" The Lieutenant spotted a Romulan peering out of a doorway, yelled, and charged. Slamming into the Romulan, he tumbled into the room and the door closed behind him. Max ran to the door, but it had locked automatically.

A boot slammed into the side of Max's head, and he saw stars as he fell to the deck. Rolling away from his attacker, he tried to regain his feet, but found himself too dizzy to do anything but clutch the bulkhead and close his eyes, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

Another boot thudded into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. He curled up into a ball on the deck, trying desperately to breathe. He felt Charlotte underneath his hip, but was in too much pain to reach for it.

"Terran pig! I'll kill you with my bare hands!" The owner of the boot grabbed him and threw him across the corridor into the opposite bulkhead. Max slumped to the deck with a voiceless cry.

Opening his eyes, he looked up at four Romulans. All of them were bloody, and none of them were armed. He noticed that they looked really, really mad. "Would it help if I told you I'm just an engineer?"

They glared at him for a moment, then started to reach for him when a transporter whine filled the air, and three of the Romulans disappeared. The one remaining looked around, bewildered. "What happened?"

Max was elated. Obviously another vessel had arrived and was snatching Romulans with their transporters. He was saved!

Max coughed, a dribble of blood falling to the deck. "Looks like someone's beaming you out of here. It's a Starfleet transporter, so I doubt you're going anywhere fun."

The Romulan sneered. "I think not, human!" He tapped a black box with a winking green light that was fastened to his belt with a grin. "Transporter inhibitor. Your transporters can't lock onto me."

Max reached up and pulled a wire out of the case. The light flickered briefly, then went out. The Romulan's eyes widened in surprise as he disappeared in a swirl of transporter energy.

Max slumped back against the bulkhead with a groan. "I _told_ you I was an engineer."


	16. Epilogue

**TALES**

**OF A**

**STARFLEET**

**ENGINEER**

**by**

**A. J. Trook**

**Epilogue**

Dear Mom and Dad,

I know. I know. Things went very wrong on this last patrol, and a lot of terrible things happened. I know how badly it must have felt when they told you that the _Expeditious_ was probably destroyed with all hands aboard. But the reports of my untimely demise have been moderately exaggerated. I've got a nice collection of bumps, scrapes, bruises, and bad memories, but I'll be just fine. My shuttle arrives at Utopia Planetia tomorrow evening, so I'll tell you more then. I'll be home for three weeks, so let Dad know how much Orion heromone perfume antidote he's going to need to whip up for me. I've no doubt Hannah will be up to her old tricks.

Well I am pleased to inform you that your Nebula design is even hardier that the Federation Press gives it credit for. They've already towed the _Expeditious_ back to Starbase Four, and we'll get started repairing her as soon as enough of the crew return from convalescent leave. Starfleet originally intended to hand off the repair work to a shipyard facility, but Captain Armus wouldn't hear of it. He knew his engineering team would mutiny if we weren't allowed to pitch in, so we're going to get to rebuild her from the hull up. If you ever wanted to make sweeping revisions to your design, here's your chance. Have some schematics ready and we'll look them over tomorrow after supper.

You know something? I think I _like_ this job. I really do.

See you tomorrow!

Your son,

Max

----- -----

Well, those are the Tales of a Starfleet Engineer. I know I pushed the ridiculous a few times, but I'm soooooo tired of every Star Trek novel being about the imminent end of the universe/multiverse. Hopefully this was as fun for you to read as it was for me to write. Thanks for riding this train to the end of the line. Your opinions are welcome.

And of course, live longer and prosper.


End file.
